Wilding
by ArianaKristine
Summary: (I Carry It In My Heart) Sequel. Multiple POV. Gremma, Snowing, Charming Family, and others.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Wildings

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Once Upon a Time or its characters.

**Rating**: T, for sexual suggestiveness and mentioned violence

**Summary**: Sequel to (I Carry it in My Heart). Multiple POV.

**Author's Note**: _**Spoilers for Season 2**_, with a little bit of timeline disturbance. Basically, you know how twisted that damn Charming tree is? I'm screwing with the alluded timeline in order to make it _worse_.

I wasn't going to make a sequel, since the stream-of-consciousness writing lent itself _so well_ to an open-ended ending. Even as I finished it, I knew that if I was the one reading it I'd be clamoring for it not to end there. Only fair to have it continue. However, this will be more of a traditional style; we're not in Emma's head anymore (for the most part).

* * *

_You are tired,_  
_(I think)_  
_Of the always puzzle of living and doing;_  
_And so am I._

_Come with me, then,_  
_And we'll leave it far and far away —_  
_(Only you and I, understand!)_

- E.E. Cummings

It's often quiet at night.

So quiet that she can hear the water lap against the prow of the ship, the creaking of the wood, the flap of the sails, and the soft breathing from the crew. She can distinguish each sound from one another, hear the nuances and fluctuations. She has learned that the slightest change in wind can signal a coming storm, that the sound of a bird cawing in the distance meant land was near, and that hard snoring meant a sick assembly in the morning.

She has learned much from him.

He watches her as she sleeps, she knows. She can feel his eyes on her at night, sometimes stretching for hours before they close in exhaustion. She never tells him that she knows that he does this; it might make him stop. She also doesn't tell him that she'll open her own eyes and stare at him often enough as well, though she suspects he knows just as surely as she does. He is like an illusion, a fantasy, at night especially. He made all her dreams come true, as saccharine as the notion sounds. Sometimes, it seems too much, that her heart will swell with love and happiness and explode within her chest. Other times, her more pessimistic times, she'll think that it will only be a dream and she will wake in the hovel with her crippled husband sleeping beside her, stuck in the same village she had been born in with no hope of a life beyond.

Not that her life is a fairy tale, not in the slightest. She and her beau fight just as passionately as they make love. They scream each other hoarse and then bite and claw their way through couplings. Some of the crew watch her with derision and barely hidden contempt to see her command the helm, a right given only to her by their captain. Sure, some follow her orders readily and offer her respect. But a couple of them have tried to attack her with various weapons, from dagger to gun to fists, to change their own position in the crew. She has killed men to get what she wants, wielding a sword as easily as she once wielded a needle. They are not always guilty. She bears the scars of these encounters as proudly as the one she has from bringing her son into the world. Prouder, even.

She adjusts her back against the mattress. Her bed is warm, faintly musty, and lumpy against her back. It is perfect. She looks glossily around her shared quarters, noting each trinket that had come to mean so much to her peppered around the tiny cabin. The thick cracked rum bottle she had used against the first of the men when he got too aggressive, the break spider-webbing from the base to form a pattern she had memorized long ago. Dried blood looped languidly around it: her first kill. The jeweled handle of a dagger that she'd pilfered off a rival, the brilliant sapphire and ruby flickering at her with each dip of the ship in the moonlight. She could picture how it felt in her hand, the weight and coolness of the metal and sharpness of the stones against her palm and the wet sound it made when she'd tugged it loose from the body. The onyx stone, highly polished, that she had found amongst the debris of her very first raid. She remembered the feeling of the last piece of her innocence dying in the ashes of that village, just as her foot caught against the smooth, mesmerizing piece of rock. It held energy inside it; to cup it in her hands was to warm her from the inside out, as if it retained the fire that birthed it.

Finally her gaze settled on the golden chain with its hammered metallic sparrow. It was his first gift to her, just before he said the first words of love. She had laughed in his face outright when he said it and he had held her wrists until they bruised and made furious love to her until she sobbed out her own devotion to him in climax that night.

That night ….

The baubles were all placed prominently around the room and all had the attachment of feelings of one thing: adventure. Adventure has always been in her blood, calling her to it. It was as sure as the salty tinge to the air, the rocking of the ship against the storm, the pounding of her heart. She had ignored it for the longest time; the impulse had been crushed down by formalities and duty and propriety. She had married the first man that gave her a second look, gotten pregnant as quickly as possible, and fallen into a routine as dry as sand. She had finally seen her misery for what it was, though it had taken her much too long. Seeing the dirty, cocky man swaggering down the path, making his way to the village tavern changed everything. She shed all of her old self and all attached to it behind to answer that call and is now living life to its fullest.

Did she have regrets?

Only a few, she supposes, as she brushes a hand through her lover's dark tresses. He stirs but doesn't wake, using gentle fingers, nails embedded with dirt and deeply sun-tanned, to brush against hers. She exhales slowly, feeling a much-forgotten pain resurrect deep in her chest. Despite everything, she had loved her son. She had to truly harden her heart to leave him behind. She can't think of him too often or her resolve would lessen. Maybe someday she will be able to see him again, to have him join her on the quest. For maybe he had inherited this pure desire for freedom and would need the salt and air and sea just like she did. But then again, maybe her cowardly husband's spinelessness did win him over in the end and he will be content to live and die in that same village with the same people in the same routine, day in and day out.

Her lips curl into a sneer. Wouldn't that be a cruel twist of fate?

She turns to her side and her lover grumbles out something in sleep in protest of her movement. She strikes the pillow with a firm hand and fights back an angry, frustrated scream of protest against that possibility. Her son had been somewhere between his mother and father and had always teetered to one side or the other depending on the situation. But above all, her son always wanted his father proud of him and that alone might cement his fate. In his eyes, she is dead and that stupid imbecile is all he has left.

She knows that she never wishes to have more children.

Her son was a light in the life of misery she had with her husband, a deep pulsating ray that kept her heart grounded for a short time. However, he wasn't and couldn't be enough. He would have never have been enough to keep her heart from turning black as the onyx stone. She would have come to hate him, just as she did his father. It's better this way. She left him behind for this life and because of it they will both have a chance for happiness.

Sometimes, when the nights are blackest and her heart aches for change, she pictures what a child with her lover's features would be like. She could see that black hair, wilder with her genes, blue ocean eyes, angular face, his father's accent. He would grow strong under the work of the ship and have a kind of swift intelligence unknown to the people on land. His heart would remain compassionate and strong, even if his actions said otherwise. He would have a dashing smile and be able to charm any woman he wished, but he would only wish for one. He would have love, that child, and it wouldn't be easy. But it also wouldn't stop him.

However, as much as she enjoyed the vision, she couldn't fathom having a child aboard such a ship. The crew was far too unaccommodating, the sea too dangerous, their enemies too numerous. Having a child on her breast would only make her a target and have the others view her as weak. Maybe they would even leave her on a port one day and set their rudders to her body and take away that adventure and excitement and freedom forever. He might stand up for her; that was true. But for how long? Or else the crew may turn on him as well, leaving all three on some godforsaken spit of land in the middle of some _blasted_ kingdom. Then she'd be stuck, again, in a miserable existence and come to hate the child and the lover as they would remind her of what she almost had and failed to hold on to.

How could she fathom having a child when she considers all this?

No, she could not keep this child. It would have to go.

* * *

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note**: So much love to all those that reviewed, set alerts, and favorited! I really appreciate your support on this story, and it helps my muse every time I get an alert.

Mondays are typically my days off, but I picked up shifts these next two weeks. I will still try to post on Monday, but it may change to Sunday or Tuesday, depending on how far along I am in the final edits. If you need a something in the meantime, read Kat.R.777's Thanksgiving idea in her review. I seriously spent five minutes laughing at it.

P.S. did you guys know that Snow and Henry can technically be considered step-siblings? Weird tree.

Guest Review Comments:

**Graie**: Well, I hope it's not _too_ over-the-top, cheesy soap opera! Lol! Thank you for your super-ridiculous praise. You guys are insanely awesome for my ego.

**BossLady**: I'm sorry! A couple people have said they thought it was Emma first, and that _so_ was not my intention. I'm trying to find a good program for a family tree, but no super success yet. I hope you enjoy!

And special thanks to my lurkers! I've been there, no hard feelings. :)

* * *

David tries hard to find similarities between himself and Emma.

In looks, she only has his high cheekbones, ears, and blonde hair, but even the latter is a lightened version. The way it spirals down her back is all her mother. Her round cheeks, dimpled chin, slightly upturned nose, and wide eyes are all Snow. She shares many of his wife's traits in personality, as well.

She is, however, not immune to mistakes or misunderstandings. She understands how to find the people she needs to find with exceptional skill mixed with incredible luck. She feels the need to comfort much more often than to be comforted. She has a dry sense of humor that he would say he shares sometimes, though his daughter likely learned it to get her through her circumstances. She can see right through people's lies but ultimately wants to believe in the good in people.

… Well, perhaps Emma has tried hard to build walls to protect against that particular impulse, but he is sure she hasn't succeeded completely. Evidence to just that is jutting out in front of her as she walks into the kitchen the morning after the curse broke.

When Snow calls to Emma to ask how she'd like her eggs that morning, she slides into the tan bar stool and comments wryly, "fertilized, apparently."

Though she is obviously tired, to David she looks lovely. The morning light is straining in through the thin, gauzy white curtains to bathe her in its ethereal glow. Her messily tied hair lights up like a halo around her cherubic face, blue-green eyes dryly red but shining. His little angel, his daughter.

He is wholly ignoring her statement. He realizes this. It is his prerogative as a father to keep her in a pure light and not the sexually active one. No, it's not fair. No, he doesn't care.

Snow gives her a sympathetic look as she fixes the toaster. "She keeping you up last night?"

Emma cracks her neck and sighs. "Yes and no. I think I had other things on my mind as well." The door to her room opens and a pale colored wolf emerges to circle her legs before sitting pressed up beside her. Snow's cry is half startled, half alarmed but Emma simply lays a hand on the creature's head. "Also, new addition."

David chuckles against the chipped coffee mug warming in his hands. He notes the way her head tilts and her general posture; he sees his mother in there and therefore him. He sets the mug emblazoned with "Best Teacher" down and wipes his mouth with a swift hand. "Your mother was always collecting animals in the Enchanted Forest. Doesn't surprise me at all that you'd share that trait."

Emma stiffens and looks at him with big eyes and he curses internally. He forgets sometimes that their other life is new and strange to her, even logically fallible. Or that mention of their family was still intangible especially with the age difference, or lack thereof. He fumbles for a way to repair his statement, feeling hopelessly lost. To his surprise, she visibly relaxes and laughs lightly. "I didn't exactly collect him. If anything, he's collecting me." She hesitates. The smile fades and it's all he can do to not sweep her in his arms at the look of devastation that briefly crosses her face before she hides it away again. Her eyes flick up to Snow's and understanding flashes in his wife's face as Emma clarifies, "he's his brother."

"Oh, Emma," Snow sighs sympathetically, reaching out a hand to their daughter which she shakes off, but not rudely. Her fingers tap out a soft cadence against the white linoleum countertop distractedly.

David is confused, but doesn't press as his wife hands him his breakfast of toast, sausage, and scrambled eggs with dejected eyes.

"A wolf? Cool!" The exclamation brings with it Henry's boundless energy and optimism as he darts into the kitchen. He wipes the sleep from his eyes, pushes back a mop of dark hair, and squats near the animal. "Is he ours, mom?"

Emma starts at the new title but shrugs. "I guess he's not going anywhere for a while. I think he's the bump's protector, though," she says. She half smiles at her son, wonder and awe lighting her gaze. For David, the look is odd to see from this side. "Awful friendly."

Henry tentatively brings out a hand to pet it. It whines, looking to Emma for approval, before pressing its head harder into the touch. Henry's smile is so large that David is swept over by the familiarity of it. He's not used to the idea of having a grandchild when he still remembers the feel of an infant, so sweet-smelling and tiny, weighing in his arms. However, when he sees a smile like that, there is no use in denying it; the boy is most definitely Snow's descendant. Not to mention the way that Emma's stomach distends currently. Maybe that fatherly prerogative will allow the concession that Emma has had relations with men twice. _Only_ twice.

Emma winces and rubs her belly. "I get it, I get it," she states grimly and turns to Snow. "So, about those eggs …."

"Coming right up," Snow says with dimpled cheeks. She still hums as she works, even now. It's these small little things that keep David from going completely insane. He chokes down a bite of egg over the lump forming in his throat.

"He's totally calm! He's like a puppy or something," Henry exclaims as the wild thing licks his palm. David smirks in amusement.

"As long as he remains all composed and protective, I suppose it'd be useful to have him around," David muses. He puts the dish down with a slight clatter and kneels next to his grandson.

"Like a dire wolf!" Henry exclaims.

Emma's face screws up at the reference. "Has Regina been letting you watch HBO?" she asks in irritation.

Henry gives an equally bewildered look. "No. I've been reading up on different myths. Y'know, in case one of the fairy tale creatures come from that, too."

Emma rubs her forehead. "God, it's too early for this. I don't think this guy is anything but a regular wolf."

David chuckles. "I don't remember any dire wolfs, Henry, sorry to disappoint. However, this one's all protective over your mom and little sister especially."

"Yeah, but that's because he's Graham's, isn't he?" Henry asks knowledgeably as he strokes the wolf's soft fur.

Emma and Snow exchange a glance. Even the wolf whimpers and sets down its head at the name. There are tears swimming in his daughter's eyes and he catches the meaning, even if he doesn't understand the way Henry apparently does.

"Yes, he is, Henry. Why don't you wash up and I'll get some breakfast ready for you?" Snow softly cajoles.

He nods, seeming to feel the change in emotions, and looks both remorseful and hurt. He exits with exceedingly less enthusiasm than when he entered.

"I feel so stupid," Emma bites out once Henry's out of earshot, swiping a tear from her cheek angrily. She blankly looks down at the wolf and shakes her head.

Snow sets a filled dish down and rounds the counter to wrap her arms around her, and for once she doesn't pull away. She rocks her as she sniffles and a strange pang of envy strikes David deeply. "It's not gonna go away just because some time has passed, Emma. Just take it as it comes," she murmurs. She untangles herself from the embrace and pushes the plate of scrambled eggs and toast toward her. "Eat up."

Emma laughs throatily and smiles through her wet eyes. "Thanks, Mary."

Snow doesn't correct her or even flinch at the false name. David files away the information, knowing that the women have a close friendship and that Snow will understand what Emma needs to cope. He will follow her lead, as always. Not that he needs a name change in this world, but it would help as time stretched on. And someday maybe he will be able to touch Emma and not have it feel so uncomfortably alien. Someday, maybe they will _feel_ like family.

Snow finishes handing out dishes and David goes to the stove to grab the tea kettle and begins pouring hot chocolates for his girls and grandson. Emma takes it with a sigh, muttering about missing coffee but smiling as the cinnamon fills her nose. Henry returns and plops down next to the wolf, silently eating in his company. Breakfast becomes a quiet affair, the sounds of forks scraping against dishes the only thing really heard. Emma seems stiff but seeks comfort almost unconsciously from brushing her sleeve against Henry or pressing against her stomach. David watches covertly as he eats, wondering how things might have been had they _always_ been a unit.

Would there be cheerful conversation? Would the silence be comfortable? Would they smile and laugh at inside jokes, hugging and giving kisses as they part for their daily schedule?

Once the dishes are in the sink and Snow has ushered Emma and Henry into playing a board game on the living room carpet, David wraps an arm around his wife's waist and inhales the scent of butter and roses. "It's so different here," he mutters thoughtfully. He looks over to the pair on the carpet, just out of ear's reach, and shakes his head almost indiscernibly.

She hums a response and leans against him more fully, molding and shifting into his embrace easily. "So many lost families, so much destruction. We're gonna have a lot of cleaning up to do." He thinks of how her voice tinkles as a song, even in melancholy. It soothes him in a way he can't describe.

He nods to her statement. "She needs some time, though. I think that's going to be pretty par for the course. We all need a bit of a grieving period, a reconciliation period." He frowns. "We'll need to figure out a better place for Regina, and soon. With magic back, that cell won't hold her long."

They had arrested her just yesterday and she had gone grudgingly enough. Her magic was not working as she remembered. With few options, they had locked her up at the Sheriff's Office but under no circumstances did that mean that David trusted her to stay put. At some point, she would be able to circumvent that particular inconvenience.

Snow grimaces. "Agreed. Something we'll discuss. Later." The last word is pointed. He smirks and buries his head in her shoulder to hide it. He places a gentle open mouth kiss on the juncture between her shoulder and neck, a promise. She shivers and turns her head to nudge against his lovingly. They will need to make up for those lost years and soon, if David has any say in it. He allows himself a moment to think about what that may entail before his thoughts flicker back to Emma.

"Graham was … the sheriff?" he asks, trying to remember the man. He distantly recalls waking up in the forest after the coma and three faces surrounding him. He thinks he can picture what he looked like: curly hair, dark eyes, strong jaw.

Snow's head bobs and he can feel the action more than see it. "He was the Huntsman. He was the one that helped me escape … that helped you escape."

_Don't let my sacrifice be in vain._

His eyes close and he remembers, finally, the man that facilitated his getaway from Regina's palace. He remembers the fear of inevitability before the guards around him fell. Then the helmet had raised, the same man. Not dark eyes but deep blue, kind and determined. His accented avowal that he couldn't join him in escape, that something kept him there.

"How …?" he asks, leaving the question open. His eyes trace Emma's shapely form, the sadness in her gaze that persists, the gentle hand soothing the babe inside her as the other moved a piece on the game board.

Snow's mouth set in a sad frown as she peered upon the same scene. "They fell in love. I've no idea how she was able to lower her walls so quick; one day they're up, the next he's gone and they're so far down that she's just absolutely shattered." She bites her lip, obviously recalling the time after the man's death.

"Are you sure?" he asks. He's not truly questioning her knowledge, not really. He just wants to know what she saw in them. Was their daughter happy, if only for the briefest moment?

"There was no mistaking it. The way they looked at each other sometimes, it was as if they were in some sort of dance or competition, waiting on the other. They'd banter with each other so ridiculously, finding reasons to _almost_ touch. They had no sense of personal space." She pauses to chuckle, remembering the early days of their meeting.

He smiles into her hair and sways them gently back and forth. Was he going to continue finding these similarities at every turn? "And I assume she denied this?"

"I told her flat out one day that she had feelings for him that she was either too blind to recognize or to stubborn to acknowledge." She has an absent smile on her lips and sighs softly. "That was the day he came to ask me about …." She falters, a memory coming to her and her lips falling into an "o" of shock. She shudders and turns to bury her head in his chest.

"What?" he presses, pulling a hand through her short dark hair.

"Emma said that he kept saying that he remembered. Oh, God, David, he _remembered_. That's why she killed him."

He doesn't need to ask who. The woman is and was responsible for so many fragmented happy endings that somehow it doesn't surprise him. His jaw sets. "But how?"

Snow shakes her head, her eyes spilling over with emotion. "His heart, David. Don't you remember? She had his heart. She must've crushed it, and David, he died in Emma's _arms_."

David remembers that the enigmatic man mentioned the trade, just as he was urging him to leave more quickly. What had he said; that he had given up his heart so Snow could keep hers? While David was aware of Regina's infamous collection, the literality of his statement had just never clicked. Of course he couldn't leave; had he, he would have died soon after with the Queen still in possession of his enchanted heart.

_Don't let my sacrifice be in vain._

He had owed the man so much. That stranger, that courageous man was the sole reason Snow wasn't assassinated and David had achieved freedom. That man was the reason he and Snow were able to find each other and create Emma. Yet somehow, because and despite of this strange and terrible curse, he was also the reason that Emma's womb now quickens.

He strokes Snow's back and looks back to Emma with a pained expression. Henry is laying his head on her belly, attentively rolling some dice. The wolf is content to watch them from the floor by the door, its unbreaking stare inherently protective. Emma's blonde curls shake as she giggles when Henry cries out in excitement from his roll.

"She's helping, mom! See, I told you, I just wait for her to kick and I get double sixes each time!" he exclaims.

Emma rolls and the dice dribble across the board in a comforting trill. She groans aloud. "I see, sibling alliances already! Just outside the Billiard Room." She is grinning good-naturedly and hugging Henry to her side. Still, there is a weight in her shoulders, a tension in her body that never seems to fully amend itself.

He couldn't even begin to imagine what it might have done to his daughter, to see the person you love extinguish before your very eyes. To be able to do _nothing_.

He leans down and presses his lips urgently against Snow's. She returns the kiss smoothly, breaking it at its natural end to dissolve into another embrace. He loves that she knows exactly what he needs.

He was broken and scarred whenever Snow had been in danger: when she lost her memories of him, whenever Regina came after her, when she ate the poisoned apple. Yet, he had always known that if he just tried harder, just pressed firmer, just fought tougher, just loved _deeper_, that everything would turn out right. It was the way their world worked; true love could break any spell and the knowledge never failed to soothe his deepest worries. Even the worst moment in his life, when he placed Emma in the wardrobe, he had _known_ he would see her again.

Emma would not have that chance with the man whose child she carried. That man who had done so much for _his_ family would never meet his _own_.

He takes a gulp of water to distract himself, but finds that it doesn't work. His mind played through scenarios. Had the two just declared their love after Emma had denied it so long? Had they just created the new life that was now growing? Had they even been able to say goodbye?

His heart aches with heaviness, sympathy biting through his soul for his daughter.

But his blood boils acidly as he thinks of how Regina will pay.

_Don't let my sacrifice be in vain._

It won't be, Huntsman. He'll make sure of it.

* * *

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note**: This chapter will answer a couple questions, but also bring up some more. Some spoilers from 2x01 are included. I do try to answer all (non-spoiler) questions and comment on all reviews, so don't hesitate to PM me or use my Ask box on Tumblr if you become unclear on anything!

Guest Review Comments:

**BossLady**: Aw, thanks! I think most of the POVs from now on will need less guess-work. I'm glad you're liking it so far!

Love to my lurkers ;)

* * *

_Where am I?_

The first thoughts leave his head in a jumble, tumbling across synapses but never quite latching on to conscious thought. He blinks a few times, but the action does nothing to help either his mental or physical state. His stomach is rolling angrily, threatening to upend against the spiral of confusion he is going through. It seems to never end.

He lies for hours, trying not to move and floating in and out of consciousness. Any tiny movement is a shock to his weakened system, sending waves of pain and nausea. His skin is hot and clammy, burning with fever. His breath comes in short pants, desperately seeking the cool air and expelling it back hotly.

The sky has lightened over this time to a pearl grey, the dawn of a northern morning. But where?

He finally rolls to his side and manages to expel some bile from his stomach with horrific gagging sounds, his whole body heaving. It's almost comforting to have it out. He falls ungracefully back to his original position and sighs.

What does he remember?

His name is first, in a language that seems both foreign and natural. Inhuman. That knowledge spurns on his memory. He sees his wolf family, the mother that took him in, the brothers and sisters that he grew up with. Thirteen of them curling protectively around him in winter and urging him into play and hunt in the summer. They survived together and he had learned through them to care about the living things in the Enchanted Forest even more than those who lived in the villages.

He squints into the brightness of dawn as he attempts to remember beyond that. At long last, he recalls grey-green eyes and a wild mane of hair, mouth set firmly in determined grimace. His earliest memory, he thinks in surprise. A memory of the family that abandoned him, a memory he shouldn't have since he had been so young. Yet it stands out, hazy and dim, but glaringly obvious. The knowledge of magic rolls through him and he wonders if that has allowed him this piece.

He doesn't think much of the image. The woman is the person who birthed and abandoned him. He expects bitter feelings to emerge at that, but there are none. His family had loved him. They had been enough.

Hunting had been common, and the numbers of his family and packs near them dwindled due to fear or pride on the part of the human world and overcrowding of different packs. He remembers the loss of his mother; a sweltering summer day in an absolutely startling moment. It had been alpha against alpha, and his mother had lost. At seven, he had not been prepared. His brother was young but just as devastated. They spent days in the den, dependent on their siblings. When they finally emerged, something had changed. _He_ had changed.

In a depression, he wandered to the outskirts of their plentiful forest. He found a village and marveled at beings that looked like him. It was astonishing, in a way. He was fascinated with the culture.

He stuck primarily to listening and observing at first. A patch of thick maple-bush and trees were his cover as he watched the daily routine of the villagers in fascination. Then one day, an old man had found his hiding spot. He was tall with a shock of white on his head and leaf green eyes. He had tensed the way his brothers did around danger and put on his fiercest face. The old man had chuckled and taken pity on him. He held out a bit of food and made a gesture to have him follow him to his home, careful not to touch him or make a sudden movement.

He ended up spending three seasons there. He was taught about hunting practices and showed a remarkable skill for archery that surprised even the elderly man. He liked him. He would feed him meaty soup and tell him about the old days of the kingdom, weaving stories about his horn and magic spear. He found himself mirroring his speech pattern, much to the man's amusement. Then, the royal guards came for more young boys to join the King's Guard. The old man, Fionn was his name, sent him back to the woods and told him not to return until the moon was waning. When he did, Fionn and his spear were gone, leaving behind a quiver, bow, and an empty hearth. He never saw him again.

Never did he fully trust the humans, especially after that, but they were useful to his continued survival as he passed his knowledge to the family he returned to. He was able to pick up the rest of the language while retaining the accent Fionn had and learned how to read and write along the way. His own skill in hunting grew, but he honored every part of the animal. When it was necessary, he sold any extra meat and the hides he did not need. Never did he do this to excess. He taught his family strategies to outsmart wolf hunters that sought them for sport. His brother became an extension of himself and stayed by his side loyally.

He recalls embittered patrons of markets and taverns, who scorned and loathed him just for being himself and loving his family.

Then it all slams into him. A job, a mercy, an attack. His hand flies to his chest in astounding quickness. Under his palm, his heart is creating a thunderous tattoo but it is there. His breaths even out. Somehow it is in its rightful place … how?

He wipes sweat from his brow and coughs deeply, feeling his heart jump and then relax in his chest. His memories are still out of reach and he has to slowly bring them into focus in a frustratingly linear fashion. He remembers being a slave. He remembers duties carried out under the command of the Evil Queen. He remembers her chambers. He turns and vomits once more, this time in revulsion.

He finally staggers to his feet. The world tilts and shifts, but he remains upright. He becomes aware that he is dressed in an unfamiliar, expensively-cut dark printed suit that is extraordinarily outside his tastes. He shrugs out of the jacket and lets it fall to the ground in a heap, hoping to get cool. He rips open the buttons on the cuffs and rolls up the shiny white satin. He leans his weight against the trunk of a tree and then stares at it thoughtfully. Is this his woods? Was he able to regain his heart and make it back home? Or did Regina tire of him and crush his heart to dust, leaving him in this comfortable afterlife?

But no, the trees are different. He runs his hand against the rough trunk, his fingers catching against the loose bark. These have a different smell, a different feel: so close that he thinks it is just imagination but false enough that his mind protests. _Pine_, his mind supplies without other explanation. The ground is stony and hard, not the lush environment he had grown to adulthood in.

He hears a rustling in the trees and then a figure pops into view. The man with the cane, familiar but unfamiliar, a person he can't _quite_ place. _I thought you were a wolf_. But the other ….

"Belle?" he chokes out hoarsely. His voice sounds rough and disused, wet and cloying.

The dark haired woman searches at the sound of her name and then gasps when she sees him. "Huntsman, is it you?" she cries and races to meet him. He coughs and groans as his world spins again. Her firm hands steady him and her exotically-shaped ice eyes examine him with barely contained worry. "Does she still have you under her control?" she asks in a whisper full of dread.

He shakes his head, his hand going to his chest again. "No, my heart …." He can't finish his statement. He isn't sure this time if it's due to the weakness of his body or the disbelief in his soul. She presses a hand over his and simply beams at him in happiness. A flare of warmth, a forgotten memory, echoes in his mind but he shakes his head away from it.

"It's real," she breathes in awe. She giggles. "I will finally see you happy, my friend!"

The older man has caught up to them and is spying on him warily. "Huntsman, you are alive," he states evenly. He cannot tell if he says it in relief, anger, or even disbelief. His gaze is inventorying and he feels unnerved by it. Frail-seeming hands meet Belle's waist in a wholly possessive manner, which she turns into eagerly with a beaming smile. Suddenly, corresponding moments click into place.

The two would speak during the day, when he had a chance. She was the only one in the castle with whom he could speak freely. Regina didn't care much as long as his duties were carried out. The smiling brunette was often cheerful despite their situation, though occasionally the anger or sadness would peak. She would read to him, sometimes. Other times, she told him about her love, the Beast who was only a man.

"You have your happy ending, little one," he states with a smile that she returns eagerly. Memories whirl around him, a cloud of magic, rolling to the Dark Palace from somewhere deep in the woods. He remembers the terror in Belle's eyes, the abject hopelessness.

Is he dead? Did that cloud smother and kill him? Did Belle and her lover die as well? Is this some paradise? He grasps his head as pain envelopes him. Cool fingers set against his forehead.

"Huntsman, you're feverish. What happened?" she asks softly.

No. No, that wasn't the end of the story, was it? He looks at her in a daze. He had awakened, but he hadn't been himself. He had been Graham, the Sheriff of Storybrooke. He wore strange clothing and used foreign technology. He had forgotten his brothers and sisters, forgotten that his heart was missing, forgotten the people around him had other lives.

"I … I was the sheriff?" he asked. Belle shrugs gracefully. He doesn't remember seeing her in this new land.

The older man, Mr. Gold, the imp, turns and his brow furrows. "You don't remember, Huntsman?" His voice is fully intrigued, as if the answer hinges on something important.

He hesitates, brushing a hand through the scruff on his chin, and rattling off the knowledge that is slowly pouring back to him. "I was Graham. I lived in a small apartment down State Street. You were my landlord. I ordered breakfast every morning from Granny's and grabbed a drink there each night. I worked on the same three cases and five calls every day. At lunch, I would take my break in the office and Ruby would deliver a sandwich. Leroy would get arrested for being drunk and disorderly each evening. I …." He pauses here. He had been Regina's slave, her plaything. They do not need to know that.

Gold seems titillated and leans on his cane. "You remember dying, dearie?"

Graham falters. Dying? "No," he states, his voice barely wavering.

Gold's eyes sparkle. "Never mind that. We'll get you to your office, Huntsman. We're headed there, anyway," he asserts darkly.

"Is there something I should remember, Gold?" he asks as he comes forward. The world only spins slightly, and for that he is grateful. Belle takes his arm anyway, and steadies him as she helps lead them in the right direction.

Gold's smile is more of a sneer. "All in due time, Huntsman. We wouldn't want you remembering things out of order, now would we?"

He is frustrated beyond words. His last memories of their world have fallen into place; the Dark One had sought him out before the curse was cast to tell him of a Savior. Rumplestiltskin, by reputation, always had an ulterior motive and Graham wishes that he could regain his memories quicker in order to deduce what that motive was.

He leans heavily on Belle as his strength is sapped again and she helps him regain his footing. Gold shoots him a look of hefty disdain but doesn't comment.

Their walk is silent, his mind still sifting through years of repetition. Years of abuse. Years of solitude, indifference, passivity, and forced isolation. None of this retrieval is relieving his symptoms; on the contrary they are worsening them.

For a moment, he decides to focus on the here and now. It works for barely a second. Belle's grip is gentle and comforting but somewhere in his mind he knows that there is something better. A stronger touch, filled with emotion and tension and love. Bare pale skin, soft and pliable, against his own. Golden curls and lithe fingers straining into the flesh of his back, perfection of pieces as they come together. A hiss of satisfaction and words of _feeling_, his teeth sinking into her shoulder to mark her as his own. She is his and he is hers.

Perhaps Gold was right. Memories out of order made no logical sense. He couldn't feel without his heart, so this must not have happened. A wonderful dream, perhaps.

The light, as it always is, is on at the station. It seems a bright beacon in the early morning. The group set in and immediately he collapses against a messy desk. He coughs and chokes before turning to the waste basket and retching profusely, oddly proud that he made it to a bin this time. Belle's cool hands have returned, brushing his dark curls back in sympathy.

"Is it supposed to be like this? It wasn't this difficult for me to get my memories back," he hears her murmur to Gold.

He shivers and collapses to the ground with a clunk, turning on his back with closed eyes. It's too much. He can feel Belle kneel beside him at a loss.

"I don't know, my dear. I've never seen someone come back from the dead so lucidly," Gold replies sourly. "Stay with him a moment. I've something to do."

"How is he alive?" a voice glowers with carefully controlled venom. A shiver runs down his spine. The voice is all too familiar and doesn't help his current state in the slightest. He opens his eyes and blurrily finds the lock-up to see Regina's face twisted into a bewildered sneer.

"You know, I must say that I haven't the faintest idea. I suppose you didn't account for all things when enacting this little curse, those happy endings restoring and all," Gold answers with a pleased grin crossing his face.

Her dark eyes narrow before they flick back to Graham. Her lips purse as she considers him before they coil into a smirk. "Did you enjoy my punishment, then, Huntsman?" she asks, long fingers curling around the bars in sick amusement.

He growls deep in his throat, but the threat is lost as it turns into a cough. Belle pushes his shoulders down; he wasn't even aware that he had attempted to rise. He takes a few breaths to steady himself as Belle tries to hush him. "I hope you enjoy yours threefold, Regina," he finally bites out.

She scoffs and her shoulders square. "They decided I needed to answer for my crimes, but they're too weak to kill me. Fools, all of them."

"You forget about me, dearie," Gold says delightedly, his accent taking an upward lilt. His eyes are sparkling with mirth as he reaches into his pocket. What he pulls out is obscured by a piece of cloth, but a heavy golden chain dangles from it and swings with the movement. He hesitates, looking at Belle. A flash of something, perhaps guilt, goes across the older man's face. This hesitation lasts only a moment. He looks to Graham and cocks his head as if recalling some intricate cog in this whole mess. "I suppose I can leave you with a piece of information first, my dear girl."

Regina's tone is laced with malice. "What?" she spits out.

He turns his head back to her with a feral smile stretching across his lips, indicative of power and delight. He seems absolutely bubbly and Regina unconsciously cowers under the stare, knowing she is about to be delivered some terrible blow. Belle recognizes it as well and slowly rises to her feet.

"Rumple …," she calls, reaching out a hand in desperation though unwilling to leave Graham's side. His gaze remains unwavering.

"Why, Regina, is it feasible that you remember your little question about our Savior?" The "r" pops off this tongue in a caustic trill. He shows every tooth in his mouth as his dark eyes gleam powerfully. "Our Huntsman here is the reason Emma is in such a state."

_Emma_. The name shoots within his already overstimulated brain. His eyes roll shut and he remembers.

Spirals of golden hair, snarky attitude, raised brows, _feeling_.

Teasing words, matching wits, gentle flirting, gazes that consume and nourish each other.

Accidental brush of fingers, subtle smiles, hands lingering on skin before snapping of cuffs, protectively grabbing her waist to steady her after the ground quakes.

Time spent locked away in the office, playing games and telling jokes under the guise of staving off boredom. Really, they stay past business hours to be near each other longer.

Disbelief and judgment in her eyes as he falls from her blow, trying to explain but the curse and the situation making his tongue clumsy and heavy. Deciding not to concede as she walks away with sad expression, even when she avoids him. She cares, she does, and he can tell.

Cupping her jaw to demand a kiss that is returned only for a moment before she pulls roughly away. Feeling the beginnings of the curse splintering but the wonder of her taste lingers more acutely.

The concern coupled with compassion swimming in blue-green eyes as a hand presses so insistently to his chest, the other warmly caressing against his hand and smoothing it so they both felt the uneven beats of the false heart.

The pride on her face when he rejects Regina _for him_, but quietly also for her. How empowered and free he feels as he follows her into the dark.

Slowly feeling the heat radiating off her body as she steps into his space but consciously _waiting _for her, and gentle kiss initiated by her this time, killing his curse in a burst of magic.

Insistent unbuttoning and urgent lips, bodies pressed together, fitting against each other seamlessly, feeling complete for the first time. She tastes like cinnamon and salt and something so elusive he laves her skin more than necessary to describe that taste more fluidly. He doesn't succeed but doesn't stop. Her hands running across his body reverently, lightly scratching here and digging there, expressing what she cannot verbalize and he tries to mimic.

Foreheads pressed together, thinking how fitting it was that they found each other. Wrapping a hand around her wrist, feeling the pulse stir something within him, bringing her back to him.

Then trying to meet her lips again but falling, hurting, dying. He _had_ died.

His mind is whirling with memories and his body burning with fever, though he can still hear Regina's outrage collapse into cries of utter terror. It starts to fade as he hears Belle call for him, but the darkness seems so peaceful right now.

He slips into it smoothly, thoughts of what exactly broke his curse filtering in his last conscious thought.

True love.

* * *

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note**: I apologize that this chapter is so short. Let's say it's a holiday problem (time and a half has dragged me to work). Don't worry: none of the other chapters are nearly as small. These next three chapters follow the pattern set by the previous three, then will change after that as more POVs come in. Have a happy Labor Day!

Guest Comments

**BossLady**: you're still the only guest! Sometimes your question make me want to have a dialogue with you, but at least I can answer some things here! First, thank you! About Gold knowing everything … well, that's not entirely true of his powers, is it? He definitely knows more than he lets on, but certainly not everything (especially that which concerns him).

Thank you everyone that has favorited, put on alerts, and all my lurkers!

* * *

Three weeks after she had become aware of it, she tells him determinedly that she needs some time to herself.

It isn't the first time she's asked. Every few months or so, she'll go off on her own to collect her independence and feed her soul for something other than monotony. Even though she is content onboard, sometimes she needs something _different_. She has spent time in lands all across the Enchanted Forest in the two and a half years that she's known him.

He grins at her, that wide beautiful grin that made her love him in the first place. He pulls her close with one heavily jeweled hand and has her eyes follow his outstretched finger to a spot of land on the horizon.

Her eyes touch it and soften in wonder. It is lush and green, seemingly untouched by civilization. Tall trees, thick grasses, and unchiseled boulders are all that she can see, save the occasional rustle of wildlife. She is aware that the Enchanted Forest stretches for miles upon miles upon miles, but such uncultivated land is foreign. No people, no questions, no worries – it seems utopian.

"I can leave you there. Send word when you are ready to rejoin us, love," he says in that buttery accent. Her heart swells. He loves her so much that the request is not questioned or taken to heart; he understands her need to stretch and explore and is willing to give her all of it.

What would he say if he knew she is leaving so that she could abandon something they created from that love?

She presses her face into his chest and inhales deeply. He smells like wind and spices and independence. "I love you," she whispers.

He smirks. "Of course you do, love," he teases. But she can see the reciprocation in his gaze. His hand encircles her wrist and a rough thumb glides against the pulse, stirring a heat deep within her. She knows she will miss it while she's gone.

The crew seem delighted to see her off. They hide it under false wishes for her safety on her trip and grin behind their hands. The one in the red cap pushes her roughly onto the rowboat and smiles a rotten-toothed smile as he says goodbye.

The forest is wide and wondrous; she thinks that it will be the perfect place to stay while she gestates. As expected, it is empty of people, wild things roaming about and the air heavy with nature. Magic vibrates and although she cannot brandish it, she can feel the untapped resource pulsating with the desire to create. There is a stream with clean water, thick with fish, and a lake further down to swim in. Deer, rabbit, and squirrel run from her feet if she is too loud in her exploration. Sometimes the wolves will growl at her when she gets too close to their den and that excites her, too.

She has a tent, a bow and quiver, a dagger, and a few blankets. It is all she needs, even though she suffers the first few nights. Her archery skill is a little uneven from disuse, but she picks it up again in a few days. Careful, learned hands remember how to skin a rabbit and build a fire. She finds a routine early and then grows frustrated; she reorganizes her whole life and starts again. Her belly rounds and the forest provides; these are the only things she wants to persist. Routine scares her in a way she cannot express.

At some point, the largest wolf begins to study her from afar. The female doesn't approach, but seems acutely interested in the pregnancy and watches her with keen black eyes. She can feel the presence of magic in it.

When the hottest night in summer hits, she ties back her thick hair with a rope made from the weeds that grow beneath the cover of trees and floats on her back in the cool blue-black lake. She is clothed in starlight and the water and air are utterly still. Crickets chirp and an owl calls, the only noise covering the landscape. She stares at the moon, a harvest moon that is almost golden, and feels something in her chest dislodge. She reaches tense fingers toward the sky and then cradles her belly and cries for hours.

She tries not to get attached. Tries not to feel connected when the fetus jumps eagerly whenever her heart races in exhilaration. Tries not to smile when it dances in her womb as she settles to sleep. Tries to forget the images she conjured aboard the ship, of a boy that looks so much like his father. Tries not to picture how she could teach him to love what she loved and how to survive in this world. Tries not to feel the love well up inside her for him.

Such feelings are squashed down each time they arise. It cannot be, she reminds herself. It _cannot_ be.

It is on a cold day in fall that her waters break. She has been experiencing contractions for the past few days, so it is not altogether surprising. Labor is simple and predictable the second time around. She had a midwife with her first, but now such a person would seem superfluous. She knows how to birth a child and had been prepared to do so alone. What does surprise her is the return of the grey wolf, head down and examining her progress, leaving when the child is born alive.

Her son comes into the world with barely a squawk. He looks at her with milk-blue eyes that peer into her soul. She imagines they will be more like Killian's eventually. His hair is a mop of dark wet curls. Her cheekbones, his lips. She drags a finger down his nose, the same as her lover's, watching the large eyes flutter closed then open again. He is lovely to look at. Something whispers over them, but it is gone before she can identify it.

As she inventories and memorizes him, his face crumples and he begins to squall and she knows he is truly _seeing_ her. As if he knows what she is planning to do.

She has a moment, barely a true one, where she considers bringing him back to the Jolly Roger. "_Here_," she would say to Killian. "_Here is your son. See how his eyes are like yours? See how his chin is? He is our freedom, our life in flesh and blood_."

In the end, she doesn't name him. She tucks a blanket around him and brings him to the edge of the den. The dark grey wolf bares its teeth at her, but comes to the baby and only curls itself around him in protection. He belongs there, she realizes; he is a child of the trees and the earth and the animals. She was never meant to have him.

She doesn't admit to the tears that course down her cheeks for the first hour, lungs fighting to shudder, but then grieves the loss with tears as potent as the ones she shed for Bae. She decides to allow herself this and only this. She cannot think on this child again.

She leaves soon after drinking the bitter bark that will stop the flow of her milk. It seems to sever the last tie. She imagines she can hear his cry from the wolves' den, but it is covered by the howls of the brethren.

The untapped magic wriggles its way around her and she can feel it fight to speed up her healing, too soon, much too soon. A visceral scream escapes from her throat and she shrieks until her throat is raw and the rage has been swallowed up. It is still there, with the pain and sadness, but it is covered and bandaged so that she will never again have to look at it.

The sails are spotted along the horizon early after she sends the carrier bird with the message that she is ready. They anchor shallowly and a single dingy is rowed ashore. He steps onto the land with swagger and his eyes twinkle with delight. Her love wraps an arm around her and leads her back to the ship with pride.

She only looks back once, briefly.

He never once mentions her time away. But he keeps her closer, kisses her deeper and perhaps more gently. He stares at her in the daytime, now, and sometimes she catches expressions of worry and fear. She wonders if he had truly been frightened that she would never return, since she had spent so long away from him.

For this reason, she doesn't take another excursion. She stays by his side and drinks in his spirit; it is enough.

It is enough up to the moment Rumple tears the heart from her chest, the one meant for Killian, and crushes it in his fist in fury. They only had one month together again, not nearly enough. As a glare flares across her vision, she sees Bae and the nameless child pass through her mind with white-hot feelings of regret. But she has her love holding her close, so it is not all for naught. He loves her wildly and she loves him back. She reaches a finger to weakly stroke his jaw, whispering that she loves him one final time.

Their love was worth it all.

She will take it with her.

* * *

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note**: Thank you all for the reviews, alerts, and favs! It always shocks me when I get new ones! This chapter contains dialogue from 2x01, which again I do not own.

Guest Comments

**BossLady**: Just a reminder that my POVs are from one perspective; she really didn't know how Killian would react but she knew how the crew that hate her would. Characters connecting will start next chapter!

* * *

David's jaw tightens as he lights the torch. He looks over to Snow and there passes a look of understanding. They have to trust Emma on this.

Anger still burns through him. He wasn't kidding when he said he would have preferred to let this be Regina's problem and no one else's. That would keep his family safe, keep his daughter safe. Keeping her safe is the most important thing; he is unwilling to break the silent promise he gave the Huntsman even if it has been passed on from Snow to Emma.

The wraith howls outside, the screams of its victims a churning dissonance of vociferous mourning. He turns to see Regina as she spins the hat on the tile, her bobbed dark hair crisply falling into her tightly drawn face. He wonders, as Regina struggles with the hat, how he would feel if the wraith simply sucked her soul form her body. Guilty? Apathetic? Peaceful? … Righteous?

The woman has broken up so many happy endings, killed so many of his subjects, exposed his grandson to such _evil_ that it seemed rather fitting that her black heart be drawn from her corporeal form. His only regret would be that it would be too quick.

He shakes off the thought. It isn't like him to be so cruel, so mean-spirited. Yet it seems that Regina brings that side out of him more often than not.

Emma has been the voice of reason during this event. Somehow, she has the ability to remain rational about Regina's connection to Henry. She knows he will be the one to suffer if she dies. Sometimes, David sees something flicker behind her eye, a fire that strains to be acknowledged and directed toward the Evil Queen. It happens most often when her hand moves to soothe her child.

He sighs and tightens his hands around the handle, knowing their chance for proper justice will begin after the spirit is subdued.

The doors burst open and the wraith, in all its undead glory, screeches at them. It seeks Regina with an accuracy that shocks him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Snow pour liquor over the bars and he sets his torch to them. It ignites with a hiss, bringing a better, but not infallible, barrier between them. He waves the lighted broom in front of the creature's face but every time he pushes it back, it lurches forward with a growl of contention to gain more ground.

"Now would be the time!" he calls behind him, seeing that the Queen is still grappling with the portal.

Emma grabs her belly and he catches the worry in her eyes as he watches her. She kneels awkwardly next to the former Queen and places her other hand on her shoulder in a bruising grip. And just like that, the portal opens. He can hear the wind pick up and the air around them trembles with magic.

He pulls the broom down and the wraith leaps forward. It falls into the trap with a final shriek of outrage. He feels his soul lighten and a sigh of release forms in his chest.

It doesn't get a chance to expel.

A split-second later, the monster catches Emma's ankle. She falls to her side with a huff as the wind is knocked out of her and it drags her with it through the vortex.

David's heart stops and his mind freezes. "No!" he cries, horror creeping over him as the last of the blonde hair disappears in the midst.

"No! I am not losing her again!" Snow cries, though not in the same mournful tone. It is in determination. She takes a running leap for the portal.

David's jaw sets and he prepares himself. "Neither am I!" he replies and leaps over the partition just as Snow falls through the swirling purple. He flies through the air to join her.

He clatters to the floor clumsily, the infinite fall suddenly shrinking to none at all. He looks down, finding the hat collapsed, destroyed underneath him. His ears ring with the abrupt silence. His eyes go wide, scanning the hat as if it can produce answers. The edges are frayed and there is a split at a seam, the white lining peeking through like its flesh. It is destroyed and it is all his fault. All his fault.

No. His mind whipsaws from guilty to condemning. Regina's fault.

"Where are they?" he all but growls at the Queen.

"I have no idea," is her tempered reply. She rises to her feet, brushing her clothes free from dust. She is unharmed, unafraid, uncaring.

His heart plummets and he finally bites out his worst fear. "Are they _dead_?"

Regina's eyes flash briefly with fear, pity. It is gone before he really gets a chance to see it. "The curse, it destroyed all the lands –"

"Are they _dead_?!" he screams again, feeling his heart splintering and rage piquing as he staggers to his feet.

"I don't know," she answers firmly, her lips pursing in a scowl.

He shakes his head in disbelief. He can feel hot tears collecting below his eyes, but his gaze is hard and unfaltering. He takes a few steps toward her threateningly. "I should have killed you myself."

His hand goes to grab her, but she wrenches away and turns to back him away with a fierce glare. Something in her eye makes him back up as opposed to advancing further. "Well, then, what's stopping you?" she all but purrs.

Then he's against the wall and what feels like branches snake around him like vines and cut off his oxygen. He gasps almost pathetically, feeling his lungs squishing against his back. He is suddenly worried that he will never live to avenge them, that his promise is broken.

"You think you're some heroic prince?" she cackles. There is the Regina he remembers, so spiteful, so livid. Insane. She looks him over in disgust, as if he is merely a pest to be smashed beneath her toe. "Please. You're nothing but the son of a shepherd."

The insult doesn't crack his resolve, but the continued lack of oxygen does. He gasps again, feeling his vision cloud over and his head growing lighter by the millisecond. A bit tighter and he will be gone.

He thinks of his mother, who he will no doubt be seeing soon, disappointed at him but still welcoming him into her arms. Her soft eyes and gentle hands, whispering that she loves him. His father will stand just slightly behind her, a tired smile on his worn face, nearly forgotten now.

He thinks of Snow, the way she looked when they first met, a slim robber dashing through the trees. The first time she said she loved him, her eyes gleaming in fearful delight. When they were first married, the love in her eye and the joy mirrored by his mother. When they were married officially, the bliss cut short by the entrance of Regina; but to see her in that feathered white dress, her dark hair in startling, exquisite contrast and the adoration in her green-blue eyes. Or when they first found out they were expecting Emma, lips pressing together in fulfillment, his hand seeking her belly as if to introduce himself to the being forming below. And then when they found each other again, wrapping into a kiss that he hoped was an apology for how he treated her during the curse. He imagines their kiss when they are reunited in the afterlife, so bittersweet.

He thinks of Emma, her bright eyes and pride, her determination, the similarities he was only just beginning to count. The strength she held inside of her when most would be crashing to the ground. The sweetness she displayed to those she felt deserved it. And her belly swollen with his second grandchild. That granddaughter that he will never meet, that will never exist, and how _cheated_ that makes him feel.

He thinks of Henry, poor Henry who will be so destroyed when they won't return, when he will lose the family he had just found and the one he had all along. Adoptive mother murdering his grandfather. Grandparents, mother, and sister, gone, all in one fell swoop. Henry, he thinks, is the one that will suffer the most.

All of this passes through his mind in a whisper of time and then his eyes roll back as his breath leaves him.

"I should have killed you when I could," she sneers at him, throwing his own words back into his face. Yes, he should have killed her, he thinks. Long ago, back when her threats hadn't caused so much destruction. Back when killing her wouldn't mean that he would be minus a wife and daughter. This woman can't be saved; there is no love in her. Why didn't he insist on her execution, go against Snow's kind-hearted wishes? Regina's hand crawls up to his chest, the touch certainly predatory and perhaps even lustfully so. Her dark eyes grow darker with each movement. He feels his vision fade, the afterlife gleaming somewhere beyond. "Now I can."

"Mom?"

Henry's tear-filled voice penetrates his upcoming death and releases the chokehold ever so slightly, allowing him to breathe again.

Her tone changes on a dime as she turns from him to his grandson. "Henry, what are you doing here?"

"What are you _doing_?" Henry insists, his mouth dropping open in shock. David can see him, Red holding him back from truly confronting Regina and his hazel eyes accusing.

"It's okay," Regina attempts to soothe and comes to kneel next to Henry. "You're safe now."

The branches finally release and David takes in a hard gulp of air before landing awkwardly on the wooden floor. He chokes and coughs, his burning lungs desperate for oxygen. Red runs to him and grabs him to check on his safety. After a moment he waves her away, Henry needs her more, but she remains solidly at his side.

Henry's wide eyes dart around the room, taking in the scene in front of him. "Where's my mom? And where's –"

"They're gone. They fell through a portal and …. Henry, I'm sorry," the witch says, crocodile tears glossing over her vision. David almost sneers out his derision.

"No you're not," Henry accuses, and David can see his gaze light with betrayal from his place on the ground as realization dawns on him. "You really _are_ the evil queen." His eyes turn hard. "I don't want to see you again."

"No, don't say that," Regina whimpers. David feels a sick thrill at seeing her in pain. Her hand comes out to touch Henry's chin. "I love you," she insists, her words thick with true tears.

Henry is more pragmatic now, David can tell. In only moments his optimism has dissolved. A child could only take so much before their innocence implodes. "Then prove it," he demands, backing up just a touch. "Get Emma and Mary Margaret and my sister back. And until then … leave me, leave _everyone_ alone!"

An eye twitches as she rises but David can tell that she is focusing her tone to remain even and light. "Where will you go?" she asks, trying to reason her way back to him.

David climbs to his feet with just the barest of help, determination finally coursing through him. "With me," he declares.

Regina looks at him with barely contained fury. Her fingers twitch but she will do nothing to him in the presence of Henry. With new confidence, he side-steps her and grabs his grandson's hand. No, he will not kill Regina. He will let her lose her son by her own doing. That will be her punishment. Because there _is_ something in this life that she believes she loves.

Henry's small hand is clammy, but he holds on firmly. He walks almost dreamlike through the town, which doesn't surprise him. David himself is surprised that he's standing. When he pushes the door open, the wolf darts out. It almost knocks David over in its persistence. He watches it run down the street purposefully and he wonders if it will grieve the loss of its new companion just as deeply as its last.

He sighs and leans against the doorframe heavily. Then he shuts the door and turns to find Henry at the breakfast bar, hunched over a framed picture. The front room is a mess. The toaster is still on the counter on a tilt, dishes stacked on the counter and waiting to be placed in a cabinet, a blanket is thrown haphazardly across the couch, and Clue is still laid out with its pieces scattered across the board. His chest tightens as he remembers how happy they were, if a little broken, just this morning.

"Henry?" he presses. He almost winces at how strongly it is expressed. The confidence he is forcing is surprising, even to him. The boy's head pops up.

"What?" he asks dejectedly. He turns again to the picture of David's wife and daughter. David looks at it wistfully. It was taken perhaps a month ago. Mother and child share identical grins and Emma has thrown an arm around the dark haired woman. Their cheeks are stained pink from the cold. Emma was still hiding her frame, but it was just barely visible if you knew what you were looking for. They look happy. God, he needs that again. And then his chest lightens.

"Emma and Mary Margaret, they're alive." He insists. They are not in that afterlife. He glimpsed it, just near the end. And while his parents were there, the rest of his family most assuredly was not. They _must_ be living.

"How do you know?" Henry asks pessimistically. His eyes are shining with moisture that he doesn't let fall.

"I have faith," David says with a smile.

"But …."

He shakes his head and rushes to kneel in front of him. He will not let his grandson lose all that optimism that ran through him so strongly as early as this morning. "Henry, come here. I will find them. I will _always_ find them."

The words bring about a small smile, and suddenly it doesn't seem all that impossible.

He will keep his promise.

* * *

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: WOW! I had lurkers come out of hiding with that last chapter and I really thought you all would be disappointed with it. I love you all, reviewers, alerters, favoriters, and the still-hidden lurkers! This chapter will be the end of the pattern, though you will see David and Graham's POVs again later (with some others).

Guest Review Comments

**Guest**: Thank you so much for the review and welcome to the story!

**Graie**: You're back! *hugs* Thank you so much for such high praise! Honestly, the fact that you would write fanfiction about my fanfiction is likely the highest I've gotten, lol! I'd say I'm sorry that I'm killing you with feels … but these are minimal feels compared to some of the stuff in later chapters. :D

* * *

He comes to very slowly, but he feels infinitely better. A cold compress is on his forehead but he barely needs it. The soft mattress beneath him is excessive but comforting. His mind is still full with Emma and he can barely concentrate on anything beyond her. His eyes blink open to see a figure, slightly obscured by tired vision.

"Emma?" he calls hoarsely, hopefully. The figure chuckles.

"So, you're awake," the voice calls in a familiar accent. He blinks more rapidly and Belle's smiling face comes into view. Her dark curls are messily pulled back and her brow is dour with tiredness, but she manages a smile that lights the room. This is the Belle he remembers. "We were afraid we'd need true love's kiss to get you up."

The joke falls flat as his hands seek to wipe his face. "Where am I?"

"The backroom of Gold's Pawn Shop. We took you here after you collapsed." Her hands sink into a bowl of cool water and then pat the compress back on his head with an evaluating look. He knows he has no use for it.

He pushes onto his elbows. "I'm in Gold's _bed_?" he asks incredulously. This has to be one for the books.

Belle's laughter rings out again. "No, Huntsman! There are many nooks and crannies in this place. I've found you one of the unused rooms."

He gives a weak smile. "Belle, call me Graham. I know it … it's just … please, Belle," he implores.

He can't verbalize the need for the concrete name. He had lived as the Huntsman, been free and a prisoner as that man. But the name was rarely said without fear, disdain, or anger. _She_ knew him as Graham. She had said that name with humor, passion, and love. It feels like a new start.

Belle's brow furrows but she takes the compress off his head. "Graham it is, old friend." She hesitates and he can see the question forming. "Who is Emma?"

Graham unconsciously smiles. His fingers brush his lips. "She is our Savior. The one that broke the curse," he replies simply after a beat. He knows it to be true. He can feel it in his bones, even if The Dark One hadn't informed him about her. With her, he had been able to feel even without his heart.

Belle's eyes roll and she pushes against his shoulder playfully. "I knew all _that_. Rumple is keeping me well informed on certain matters. What I don't know is who she is to _you_."

He chuckles and sits up. He looks down at the rumpled shirt and suit pants and winces. "I need to find her, Belle. Help me find my shoes and I'll tell you on the way." He swings his legs over to the edge of the bed and feels relieved that there is no more nausea or vertigo.

She frowns and begins to chew on her lower lip. "Graham …."

He looks up, noticing her sudden change in mood. "What?"

She bites down hard and looks away. Finally, her ice eyes meet his. "There was an incident. When Rumple came to the jail for Regina, he was … he was marking her. He brought forth this wraith that was set on destroying her. He told me that the Charmings found a way to banish the entity instead, but –"

Graham holds up a hand, worry encompassing him. "Where is she, Belle?"

Belle looks away sharply and then determinedly focuses on him again. He's always admired that strength in her, the ability to deliver all news with respect for the person she's giving it to. He feels fear creep up that she is directing it to him at this point in time. "She's in our world, Graham. With Snow White."

Graham feels his stomach plummet. Their world? "Is it … is it even still there?"

Belle sighs. "Rumple believes it is."

Graham staggers to his feet and shoots a look around the room. The dizziness has returned, but now he can determine the cause to be his stirring emotions. He finds the shiny dress shoes easily amongst the antiques and yanks them on.

"Hunt—, Graham, what are you doing?" Belle exclaims.

Graham's eyes narrow. "I am verifying what Gold has told you and then I am giving my help to my King," he grinds out. He stumbles slightly in untied shoes and reaches down to tie them. He heads purposefully through the door. He can hear Belle's protests but he wholeheartedly ignores them.

"Do you really wish to be going out there? No one knows you're alive but us, Huntsman," Rumplestitskin's voice calls out without so much as raising his voice as he rounds the corner. The man is not even looking up from the silverware he is polishing. Belle trips into the main room behind him, breaths short as she watches him with soft, apologetic eyes.

He pauses and tries to find the proper retort. "I don't care," he finally says simply, pushing the door open and the chime crying out before it slams shut again.

He stops abruptly, finding his brother sitting a few paces away, his tail wagging in delight.

He kneels by the wolf and runs a hand through his hide. "You've been taking good care of her?" he asks rhetorically. The wolf whines and nudges his hand in response. He rises and gives a sharp whistle and the wolf falls into step with him.

He's not exactly sure what he expects as he walks through town. Perhaps reunions in the street? People still hugging and cheering that the curse is broken? It is dark out and the New England fog has swept itself across the streets in a deep misty sea. The street lamps cast hazy yellow light onto small sections of the storefronts like a post-impressionist painting. There are no others out and, despite their protests, neither Belle nor Rumplestitskin have followed him.

His steps slow as he approaches Mary Margaret's apartment. He doesn't consider it Snow's residence, just as his apartment on State wasn't his home. He looks to his brother, who is panting heavily. His tongue rolls out and he looks content that they have gone to the right place. Hesitantly, he reaches a fist to the door and gives two hard knocks.

There is silence. He reaches to knock again. His hand lingers just above the dark wood, wondering if he could handle his own reaction if 'Stiltskin was right. He takes a deep breath and collapses near his brother. His lashes flick across his cheeks and he tries to gather his strength again.

The door swings open in the meantime and a heavy silence falls. He looks up to see King James, his eyes red-rimmed and whole face full of exhaustion. _Oh_, he thinks. It is certainly true.

"Highness," he greets formally with a slight inclination of his head. He is already on a knee, so he can't bow further.

The king's eyes browse across his form in bewilderment. He blinks, hard. "Huntsman?" he finally asks, uncertain.

He rises to his full posture but can't manage to meet his heartbroken stare. Instead, he hangs his head as the reality settles in his stomach. "I have come to offer my services, my king," he states in as even a tone as he can manage.

The blond man gapes at him a moment or two, still hanging on to the door knob. "But, you're dead!" he finally exclaims.

Graham smiles brokenly. "I think I was. I only woke this morning." His brother is tired of this back-and-forth and pushes his way into the house, trotting towards one of the back rooms.

"Grandpa, who's there?" Henry's voice calls from inside. He is rubbing his eyes from sleep and making his way to the door in a haze, one hand on top of the white wolf's head. When he sees Graham, though, he comes awake in a flash. "Graham?"

He smiles at Henry. He always liked the kid. He was bright and energetic, full of positive energy. Optimistic to no end. "Hi."

He is shocked to have Henry bolt to him, hugging him around the waist in a fierce grip. He falls back at the force and quickly regains his footing, bringing an arm to wrap around his back. "You're back, I can't believe you're back!"

"Didn't think you'd notice," he replies with a cheeky grin. It's a joke veiled in truth, though. He didn't feel like he made much of an impact on anyone until Emma.

Henry snorts and then looks him up and down. His nose wrinkles in distaste. "Creepy, you're in your funeral clothes."

He looks down at the strange grey suit with a grimace. Well, that at least clears up why he is wearing something so unusual. Yes, it is indeed "creepy." He looks back to James who is still gripping the knob with white knuckles. He quirks an eyebrow then turns back to Henry. "Yeah, I haven't had a chance to find my own things since this morning."

James finally snaps out of it. "This morning?" he croaks out.

Graham turns and nods. "I think … I think I've actually been back since last night. However, the … process, thing messed up my system a good lot. I got all my memories back sometime late this morning, passed out, and didn't wake up from that until about twenty minutes ago." He feels the cold wash of realization come over him as he realizes he could have been reunited with Emma if only he had come to sooner. He swallows.

Henry looks intrigued. "Wow, that's so weird. It took you that long to get your memories back? It didn't take Grandpa or grandma or Red or anybody else longer than a _second_."

Graham shakes his head, biting down the initial jealousy. "Not just my memories of our Land, Henry. It was like my whole brain was rebooted. Everything had to come back and it came slowly."

James looks like he is processing still. He seems stunned and like his mind is working out a thousand different branches of thought. Henry doesn't notice this and drags Graham to the couch in delight.

"So, you remember everything now, though, right?" he asks excitedly as he sits down, practically bouncing on the cushion.

Graham smiles and nods. He brushes the kid's hair back wistfully. He looks like Emma and Snow so much sometimes that he wonders just how much he gets from his biological father.

Henry's eyes twinkle. "There is so much to tell you! First, and most important, my mom's –"

"Henry, why don't you get to bed? We're going to have a busy day tomorrow and we don't want to overload the Huntsman so soon," James cuts him off.

Henry looks at him in bafflement. "We do?"

"Yes. We've got to start the mission to find Mary Margaret and Emma, don't we?"

"Operation Scorpion," he murmurs thoughtfully.

"You will most certainly not be lacking help, little Prince." Graham nudges him to bring about a smile.

Henry absolutely beams at the endearment. "Okay," he says and makes his way to the bedroom, his brother following behind protectively.

"Huntsman, the fact that you are living … I can't express how shocked and relieved I am. How much this will please my family," James murmurs, finally shutting the front door.

Graham gives a half smile. "I thank you, Highness. However, I'd feel more comfortable if you addressed me as Graham."

James' eyes light with confusion before understanding dawns. "Of course. Emma knows you as Graham."

Graham looks up, startled. He didn't expect anyone to understand. "Thank you, King James."

"Please," his king implored. "I feel that my daughter's chosen shouldn't have to address me so formally. And my real name is David."

Graham looks away at David's reference to his relationship with Emma. The pain of not being able to see her immediately is still scratching under the surface since he hasn't been able to express it. The knowledge of a real name for the King is confusing but he shrugs it off. "Do we have any idea how to bring them back?" he asks. He cannot address the man so informally quite yet, so he omits the noun completely. It feels odd on his tongue, words forced back into this throat. Regina had always required that he use her title.

David sighs and wipes a hand across his face. He laughs bitterly. "Not even part of an idea. I just know that they _have_ to come back. The world can't be that cruel."

Graham flinches because he knows that it _can_ be that cruel. His life was not a map of happiness, from birth to curse. The glint in Regina's eye whenever she would take his heart from its box and _squeeze_ just to see him in pain is fresh in his mind.

He shakes his head and refocuses. He thinks of Emma as he last saw her. She had been smiling, beaming really. Her clothes were crumpled, her hair disheveled, cheeks still hot and pink, and she had never looked lovelier. He had been leaning in to kiss her swollen lips again, arms tightening around her waist. They had been so close that he could see every fleck of color and every emotion in her sea-colored eyes. They had been happy in that moment. _She_ had been his happiness. He needs that again, so desperately. He needs to see that joy in her eyes.

"We'll figure something out, I promise. If it's the last thing I do, we'll get them back," he says impassionedly.

David looks at him from the corner of his eye. "I'd rather it not be the last thing you do _again_, Graham."

Graham looks up in surprise. He isn't used to people caring. "Thanks." It doesn't mean that he won't sacrifice himself for her if it takes that. But it's nice that someone doesn't want him to.

David rises. "I'll get you something to wear. It's rather morbid to see that you're in the clothes you were buried in," he mutters in disgust. Graham only laughs.

"Better than what I died in, I suppose. Though it would have suited me better," he says, irreverently cheerful. Though he remembers that the shirt he'd been wearing would have been missing a few buttons here and there.

David smirks and tosses him a plaid shirt from the wardrobe by the stairs. Still not his style, but inordinately better than the heavy satin. "Thank you."

David studies him a moment. "Do you understand what broke your curse?"

Graham's eyes shoot up to meet his. "My curse?" he asks, playing dumb. He is suddenly very aware that he is talking to Emma's father.

David nods and hands over some sweat pants as well. "Your curse," he asserts. "What made you able to regain your memories before you died."

He watches him seriously. He realizes that David knows exactly what broke his curse and is only assessing to see if he knows. "I know, David."

David nods. "And what is it, Graham?"

Graham hesitates. He remembers freeing the man in front of him and allowing Snow to escape to the safety of the woods. He remembers a time when Snow was too young to have a daughter, though she is clearly not old enough to have a twenty-eight year old now. He thinks of how Snow is twenty-six to Emma's twenty-eight, and that he and David are only a few years older. He thinks of how strange this curse that was designed to kill happy endings will bring him his once she is back. Finally, he allows himself to whisper what he knows in his heart to be the absolute truth. "True love."

David nods thoughtfully. "This is why I trust you with getting her back."

Graham watches him leave the room without another word. He holds the borrowed pajamas in his hand, frozen. Somehow, it hurts even more to have said it out loud. Emma broke his curse, made him able to love without a heart, completed him because of true love's kiss.

Now he needs to get their happy ending back.

* * *

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note**: We have a long way to go, people. And a new POV finally! Contains spoilers and some dialogue from 2x03.

Guest Comments:

**Guest (1)**: Yup, I think that's exactly what Henry was gonna do. Graham does need to stay away from the whole sacrificial thing he loves, but it'll likely be hard! And yes, I wish Season 2 went a little something like this, too. Thank you so much and welcome, welcome!

**Guest (2):** Welcome! Thank you for the review! Yes, David's got a thought process behind cutting off Henry.

**BossLady**: David definitely has some conflicted feelings regarding Gremma, but he knows better than to mess with True Love. You'll see David's reasoning in chapter 8.

**Abigail**: Thank you so much! And welcome! Stay awhile ;)

**Guest** **(3)**: Hello and welcome! Thank you so much! I am really trying to get Henry's voice right, so I hope it stays consistent! As for certain reunions, well, you know what they say about delayed gratification, lol. And I am writing like a machine! Definitely weekly updates, so watch out next Monday!

* * *

She wakes forcefully, being shoved to her feet by bound hands. "Wake up, assassin," a voice sneers.

Snow blinks her eyes open to find a warrior in front of her, fully armored. She sucks in a breath in astonishment. This is definitely not Storybrooke. It's the smell of the air that first warns her that something is off. It is lighter yet somehow weighty, the oxymoron hanging to the breeze in a way she cannot describe. Magic she cannot wield buzzes faintly, with the smell of it clinging to the very earth; it smells like rain on asphalt or dew on glass on a fall morning. It is achingly familiar. She is home.

She studies her captor, the warrior. The armor he is wearing is detailed elaborately in foreign lettering and design. Thick chainmail dangles from parts of the helmet and chest plate, protecting and obscuring his face and body. She cannot describe his frame, if he is stocky or lean, lithe or brawny. She recognizes it as a clever tactic so you cannot pre-judge your enemy. A weapon, shining and deadly, hangs from his hip. Rope but not rope, that thick leather-like strap common in the Enchanted Forest, bites into the thin skin of her wrists and twists off into a standard coil, a restraint that looks more like a leash.

A girl stands off to the side near two horses, her head held high and fury fully pronounced in her stance. Her face is porcelain smooth and would be child-like had it not been for the anger pulling her features. Fire licks in her blue eyes, framed by heavy lashes, and her auburn hair is smoothly curled and accentuated by an intricate silver and diamond headband crown, the rest tumbling down her back. Her corseted lavender dress is expensively made and was once perhaps much lovelier; it now looks aged and frayed along its hem. A neighboring princess, she deduces. One she hasn't met. One to the East, perhaps?

She staggers forward as she is lashed to one of the horses and then watches as the warrior goes over to a pile of rubble that covers a person. Emma. _Emma_. "No!"

"You are not to speak, villain," the princess' voice rings out from behind her. It sounds like gravel churning in a dove's throat, unnaturally gruff. She can't focus though, her mind spinning with worry and disorientation and that is her _daughter_ and they _can't_.

"No, you don't understand! You can't hurt her!" The warrior kicks debris away from her daughter to better get to her. She strains against the restraints, panic climbing to hysteria. "She's pregnant!" she cries as a last effort.

The princess and warrior pause at this. They share a look. The warrior kneels and pulls back Emma's jacket to expose her obviously distended abdomen. He nods to the princess before the warrior resumes lashing her daughter's hands, but there is a certain cautiousness to his movements now. "She will still need to speak for her crimes," the warrior says and it shocks Snow with its stark femininity.

Emma is pulled to her feet and Snow worries when she doesn't come around immediately. She fears for her granddaughter as well. They were sucked into a portal and dropped unceremoniously into a pile of rubble. Has the fall harmed them? Finally, Emma stirs and her head lolls to an upright position as her captor gently shakes her awake. "Wha –, who are you?" She looks dazed but otherwise okay and Snow feels her resolve strengthen. She _will_ get them out of this.

"Don't speak," the warrior spits. "We will bring you to camp and then you will be placed on trial."

Emma is tied alongside her, connected to her rope and then to the same horse. She gives her a look of worry but says nothing as not to provoke their jailors. The other women share a look and grab the reins of their animals, but Snow notices something. While they are working together, they are not friendly. There is something between them that drives a harsh wedge. She files the information away, wondering if she can use it.

The walk through the land is harsh. It is nothing at all like Snow remembers. The terrain is unfamiliar, more torn apart, barren. Trees are present in the distance, but they are spotty and thin. Dust picks up and covers then and they cough out the dirt dryly. Snow wants to weep for the realm, her home, Emma's birthplace. It used to be beautiful, lush and full of life. The curse has ravaged it of its health.

She remembers running through the grasses as a child, the blades scratching and caressing her bare legs as she screamed in delight and the blue birds flew around her. She can almost feel their wings brushing over her pale skin and the sound of Johanna screaming after her in a voice that betrays her delight.

She remembers meeting David on the road to the Western Palace, sensing the challenge and attraction between them under the cover of trees. She can smell the distinct woodsy scent of the trees, feel the wind rushing past her as she darted through familiar terrain. She can see the look in his clear eyes as he thought he had her beat.

She remembers lying beside her husband near the crystal azure lakes on the outskirt of the kingdom, the fresh smell of water and lavender all around them, fingers entwining over the new bump of her belly.

She shakes off the feelings of nostalgia, remembering another, more present, bump and walks closer to Emma. "Are you all right?"

Emma glances at their captors atop their horses then nods. "Fine. Any bright ideas?"

Snow shakes her head. "Not yet. I'm still trying to get a read off this place." She turns to the pearl colored sky and sighs. Then she glances back at her daughter and gestures to her middle. "Is she okay?"

Emma looks down at her belly for a second and finally nods. "She's been moving around. She's fine."

She is flooded with relief. Both of her girls are fine and that makes everything easier. "We'll get back, Emma. But I'm sure Henry will be fine with David."

Emma grimaces but nods stiffly. "Sure, yeah. He was all excited about having a granddad, anyway," she says dryly. Snow can tell Emma is not yet dealing with their status as parents. She can't blame her, even though she aches to hold her as a daughter instead of a friend.

The walking continues. Here and there they are jerked forward as the horses trot faster than they can walk. The women on top slow their animals quickly after, but Snow still manages to get a sharp pang in her stomach each time. She is worried Emma will fall, hit her belly, and injure one or both of them. Emma only grumbles at the instances but doesn't seem to be doing poorly. She is surprisingly quick to steady herself at each stumble. Snow should have known that Emma wouldn't take it lying down. She feels pride swell within her: her daughter.

Finally they see a beach, foggy and destroyed like the rest of the land. "What is this place?" Snow finally shouts.

"Our home," the warrior responds, pulling off her helmet and veil. Underneath is a woman with sharp cheekbones, dark almond eyes, and thick black hair. She is striking but her eyes are stone when she glowers down at the two. They continue up the peninsula. Snow is shocked to see people everywhere as they enter the village. There are this many people still in their land?

"It's like they're refugees," Emma murmurs thoughtfully.

Snow understands that thought process. The huts are quickly set up and not built for longevity. The items used to make them are haphazard and mixed. People pick over food items of varying degrees of unusualness or decay. They look dirty, bruised and battered, struggling to survive. The halt in front of larger hut and the people stare at them with distrust.

The warrior glares at her as she dismounts. "We're survivors," she states defensively. She turns her back to give a few orders to the others. The princess is holding onto the rope as a few men work to untie it from the horses until only the leathery strap remains.

Snow gives a sideways look and prays. With moves she barely remembers, she brings up a knee that slams into the princess' abdomen and she collapses in a huff. "Emma, run!" she cries and she leaps swiftly for the opening in the trees. Emma's gait is surprisingly steady for all it lacked in grace, and she overtook her in moments. She feels delight and the opening is _right_ _there_. They will make it to the trees and hide in the forest and she will teach Emma while they find a way home ….

A sharp pain bursts from her head and neck and there is blackness.

She feels a little ridiculous as she comes to a second time, sucking in a deep breath of hay and earth. She's blacked out twice since she's been back in her land, she recalls. She should be stronger than this. She used to make wise decisions, didn't she?

She is disoriented and dizzy. She brings a hand behind her head and feels a lump and wants to groan at the implications of it. She quickly does an internal assessment of her mental facilities and finds that her thoughts are a little muggier.

She hopes she will relearn her skill and soon, or else they would be doomed.

"You're from over there aren't you?"

The voice is so familiar it snaps her out of her reverie. With a hand still to her head, she pulls herself to sitting.

She is just as she remembered. Eerie and beautiful despite her age with soft brown hair and deceptively kind eyes that can turn cold on a dime. "How did you get back?" she asks Emma with an indulgent, unassuming smile.

"Emma," she interjects harshly, rising to her feet and ignoring the flash of pain resounding in her head. "No," she says under her breath as she sees Cora's face more clearly. Flashbacks seek her consciousness but she brushes then out of frame as her panic rises.

"Oh, Snow, you're awake, I'm so relieved!" she states in a honeyed tone that hides her malice. She wants to shudder, the little girl inside her trembling in fear. However, the mother in her wins out and she grabs Emma's shoulders. She turns around to face her fully.

She meets Emma's gaze head-on and makes sure she knows the seriousness of her next words. "As bad as you think Regina is, this woman is worse," she whispers, knowing she must look frantic and half-crazed. Emma's look is as apprehensive as it is disbelieving, her mirrored green eyes pitying.

"Oh, Snow," Cora says in false dismay, her hands wringing together.

Snow turns and pushes Emma firmly behind her in a protective stance. This is her daughter and granddaughter and she will be _damned_ if Cora hurts them no matter how weak she currently feels.

"Sweet Snow, please," the witch pleads and Snow backs them up as she comes closer. "Believe me. Whatever she told you isn't true. I just want to help you."

Snow remembers a similar plea. _Oh, sweet Snow. It's alright. She won't lose me. You can tell me. You must tell me. _

"Let's hear her out," Emma whispers from behind her.

"Emma," she reprimands firmly. She will not be fooled by this woman again. She _can't_ be fooled by this woman again, not after the misery that happened after last time. If she had not been swayed into telling her about Regina and Daniel, she might have been able to raise Emma as she saw fit.

"Okay." Emma says, her voice conceding but also reasoning. "But you have a minor head injury, I'm still almost eight months pregnant, and right now we are at the bottom of a hole with no other options. And Henry? He is back at Storybrooke with Regina," Emma whispers back, her voice gaining desperation as the sentence lengthened.

Cora's face remains innocently confused as to invite sympathy. "My, eight months, I wouldn't have guessed so much! You are barely showing, my dear." Snow represses the urge to laugh. Emma may have been able to hide it for a lengthy amount of time in heavy winter gear, but her pregnancy is anything but inconspicuous in warm-weather clothing. Cora hesitates and Snow can see the manipulation stirring behind her dark eyes. "Who's Henry?"

"My son. I kind of share him with Regina. It's complicated," Emma rattles off.

Snow's head rolls back with her eyes and she faces Emma with a look denoting her displeasure. She grips her jacket with both hands to startle her. "Don't talk to her," she says forcefully, stressing each word to get her point across.

"Enough!" A voice from above calls. They all look up to see a face blocking the sun and a rope thrown down. "Our leader requests an audience."

She throws a look to Cora and then back to Emma. She glances up again and calls out, "I'm fine getting up that rope, but how's a pregnant woman going to do it?"

Emma huffs a sigh. "I'm not totally incompetent."

Snow shoots her a look. "But you're also very middle-heavy right now," she replies, wincing slightly. She knows she's pushing Emma but at this point she is trying to get her to think rationally and realize the danger they're in.

Emma shakes her head and grabs the rope. "I still have some core strength, despite this one," she protests grumpily. She proves just that by shimmying her way up a third of the length in as much time as she spits out the sentence. The whole process should have been more awkward, like her running, but after Emma pulled the rope to follow the outside of her belly, she was able to make quick work of it. She pauses as the rope goes taut and shifts from its perfect position and Snow can hear her stubborn daughter panting.

"Dammit, Emma," Snow sighs and positions herself to be able to break her theoretical fall.

"Stop right there. We'll pull you up the rest of the way," the man from above calls. She's not sure if it's from worry for their captive or worry that their rope will snap.

Snow bites down her panic at what could be up top. Neither option, Emma being above without her nor Emma being below with Cora, is a good one.

Once two men bring Emma to the ground and the rope is thrown back down, she climbs up with precision, fear edging her movements.

Emma looks indignant when she meets her, arms folded on top of her belly. Her face looks like David so much in that moment that Snow is stricken speechless. It is her father remade without the amusement, staring up at her as she clings to the trap. Everyone has mentioned how much Emma looks like her that she is startled to see her reflect her father in such a way.

Their captors grumble as they pull them forward, their modern shoes making a scraping noise in the packed russet earth. Emma glares ahead, focusing on her steps.

"Why can't you just listen to me?" Snow finally asks as they are lead away, back into the village. She is so worried; there are so many dangers here and they will never get anywhere if Emma is challenging her at every turn.

"Why couldn't you have just trusted me, I was just trying to find a way to get us home," Emma grumbles back. She sighs. "I could have handled her."

Snow holds back a snort. "Cora?! Don't be so sure," she jabs. "I've lived here, Emma. I know this world. And it's dangers."

"Wait here," the guard grunts, tired of their bickering. He goes ahead to duck inside one of the makeshift houses.

Emma heaves a sigh and then faces her. "Is that why you came through the portal? 'Cause you thought I was helpless here?" Her eyebrow quirks up as she says it and her hands fall to her hips. Snow can tell she is relieving her back pain just as much as she is asserting her strengths. She recognizes the action for when she did it. Her girl, trying to hide her weaknesses with bravado. She wonders how long she's had to do that.

Snow shakes her head to her question. "No," Snow says, her eyes misting and her voice cracking. "I came here to be with you."

That is honestly it. This is her _child_. The roommate and friend that she has helped and been helped by over the past year is also her daughter. She has held her as a tiny newborn, pressing a kiss to her brow with tears streaming down her face and hope catching the breath in her breast. She has held her as a woman, as she grieved for the father of her child, breaking down _finally_ into heart shattering sobs and soul aching screams. Now, she needs to know this woman as _family_ and not just as the woman who tries so hard to build walls and run from her problems. They were friends before but she is determined that they will be closer through this experience.

The facts that she would be there to guide Emma, to be able to help her through the dangers, and even help her with her pregnancy are only bonuses.

Emma's lips rise into a half-smile, brushing a hand across her belly easily. Snow's eyes follow the movement, feeling enthusiastic at the idea of their family growing.

"She'll be beautiful," Snow murmurs as she considers it.

She is imagining more towards the spiritual side than the physical. Though true that Emma is a stunning woman and the Huntsman had been an exceedingly handsome man, she is more aware of how strong they both are, how honorable, how fiercely _good_. She pictures the meld of her daughter and the Huntsman, the kind soul that will be passed down.

Her grandchildren will be the benefit of the curse. Henry and this child would have never existed without it. It is purely ironic that it also allowed the man who saved her life to be doubly responsible for this child's life.

Emma's head bows, seeming to recognize what she is not voicing. "Of course she will be; she's half Graham," she says with a careful laugh.

She presses her lips together, holding back from the impulse to embrace her. The shadows are more prominent in her eyes again. She wishes there is some way to take care of them completely.

Movement from the hut catches her eye and she sees dark metal armor emerge with a dark cape swishing behind and then the smooth ebony face she remembers so well. Suddenly, hope to get out of this place swells within her.

"Lancelot?"

He grins at her and she is awash with relief.

* * *

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note**: This chapter is an interlude, containing no dialogue from the show. Chapter 9 ended up being shorter than I would have liked and I promised that no chapter would be as short as chapter 4 was; thus, there will be a brief update on Thursday of this week before going back to the regular schedule. I realize posting the Monday after the premiere makes this story a lot of white noise; thanks for all that'll stick with it!

Guest Comments:

**BossLady**: You found the fear that I wanted you to have! I won't say whether or not it will be warranted. And I'm so glad that I've gotten you excited for Mondays!

**Kimber**: Thank you so much! Sometimes I am worried about the character voices, so I'm glad you think they're realistic. And yes, there has to be more Graham AUs. I think I've gently (read: forcefully) pushed three of my readers into writing more Graham. I have no regrets.

**Abigail**: 3 Thank you! You guys are killing my ego, I swear.

**Guest**: A Snowing baby? Emma's the Snowing baby! Lol, j/k. Wellllll … maybe in the future. We got a lot of kinks to work out before Snowing can even get to thinking about one. Although, I _do_ love the idea.

* * *

David makes sure he is the first awake in the apartment. Well, at least, he thinks so.

He's been mostly unable to sleep properly. His family is gone, his grandson suffered major emotional trauma, and there is a dead man asleep on his couch. His typical light sleeping has turned into full-blown insomnia, and with good reason.

Around five in the morning, he shuffles up the stairs and down the hall to Henry's room. The house is silent. Had Snow been there, it would have been alight with life. She had always tried to do things quietly in the morning but rarely succeeded. Cleaning left the night before would have been tended to: dishes washed, floor swept, plants pruned. Even in their world, she said that cleaning soothed her and she tended to some menial tasks in the mornings before he woke. After, she would be humming as she indulged in some morning activity, reading or knitting while drinking a cup of steaming tea.

The floor creaks under his feet as he approaches the room Henry is sleeping in. It is absolutely imperative that he speaks to Henry before Henry speaks to Graham. He was only just able to stop him from spilling secrets the night before and he doesn't need that again.

"Henry?" he calls, lightly knocking. The wolf pops his head up from the foot of the bed and stares at him cautiously. Henry sits right up as well. Something he learned quickly the night before last is that Henry is a hard sleeper. This proved that he, too, had not been sleeping well.

"Hey grandpa," he says in a hushed tone. A pang goes through him. The title still gave him chills in the best way.

He moves along the side of the bed, subtly avoiding the wolf. He sits down and looks upon the boy's pallor. He brushes back a lock of sweat matted hair and sighs. "Not gonna be the best week for sleep."

Henry shrugs. "I think I got my share."

David winces, remembering that he had been in a sleeping curse only two days ago. "Yeah, sorry, kid," he replies.

Henry plays with a thread on the bedspread and speaks what has been keeping him up. "Do you have a plan yet?"

David looks away and then turns back to him. "I think I have a place to start." He does. It has to do with the maker of the hat who he needs to track down. Unfortunately, that will involve Regina. "But we need to talk about Graham."

Henry's posture straightens, his dark eyes attentive. "We need to tell him about Emma, about my sister," he whispers, delight crossing his face plainly.

David shakes his head harshly. "No, Henry. We can't be the ones to tell him."

Henry gave a look of confusion. "Why not? He needs to know about my sister, so she can know about him, too. Emma's his true love and that's his daughter. She's his family," he demands, arms folding. David also notes something in Henry's tone left unsaid, that Graham would be his family, too. It turns something in his stomach to think that he may not be enough for his grandson. He focuses instead on the protective nature of his tone when talking about his sister. He hasn't even met her yet. She will be one lucky sibling … as long as David gets her back to this world.

David grasps his shoulders and makes sure Henry is looking at him, refocusing his thoughts on his plan. "Henry, imagine for a second. Graham has been _dead_ for nearly eight months. He died in Emma's arms, and Emma isn't even here, she's in our old world. Imagine how that hurts him. Nobody but us knows he is even alive and he'll have to come back to society. And then Regina is still out there and we need to watch out for her. He's going to have to handle a lot. We don't need to drop another bombshell on that man," he advises.

Henry shakes his head. "But won't that make him fight harder?"

David gives a pained smile. "It might. But I think he'll fight enough just for your mom. Besides, you know your mom will want to be the first one to tell him. Think how disappointed she would be if she wasn't the one to."

Henry looks torn. His eyes are wide and he hates that he is making him keep this secret, that he's manipulating him in this way. But David feels certain that they need to. Graham doesn't need to know that he's fighting for two lives that he's intimately connected to; he would be that much more willing to lay down his own.

He can't have that happen again.

This is David's family. His wife, his daughter, his grandchildren. And he is more than willing to take Graham on as son-in-law.

Is it ideal? No; he wishes to have time where Emma is just his daughter. He's not especially keen on the idea that the infant he remembers so vividly will be in a romantic relationship with a man that is technically his age. A man who has already impregnated his child.

David is not stupid. He is willing to admit that even if Graham hadn't returned, Emma would not be a little girl needing constant supervision. Emma is fiercely independent. Though she may take David and Snow's help, she would not take their hovering. She would resent that immensely. She has her children to take care of, who will also share her love. It will never be just them three, as he had wished when she was first placed in his arms.

Besides which, David knows not to mess with true love. He will not allow that look of devastation to light Emma's eyes again. He will make sure Graham will be there to help fix that half, to heal those leftover wounds.

Henry frowns. "What happens if I slip up?"

David smiles, relief pooling into him. Henry is willing, thank God. "We'll deal with it then, Henry. But you've been so good at keeping secrets and this is a big one. We'll have to talk with Gold and anyone else that knows and help them keep it secret, too."

Henry frowns deepens. "My mom knows."

David matches it. If Regina ever decided that the knowledge would work in her favor …. "That will be a problem when we come to it. Hopefully she will know to stay away from him."

Henry hesitates. "Did she … did my mom … did she kill Graham?"

Silence fills up the room, stifling them. _Yes_, he wants to scream. _She crushed his heart just like she was planning to do to me before you stopped it._ He swallows thickly. "Please, don't worry about that right now. Graham's back. He's alive and in our living room. And we're going to get our family back, too."

Henry's eyes are forlorn. "But … we don't know how he came back. What if it doesn't last?"

David's eyes close tightly. He hates this. Where is his grandson's everlasting confidence that things will turn out right? He could kill Regina just for denting that. "We have to believe, Henry. He was brought back for a reason and we have to believe that it was so he and Emma can be together again."

Henry hesitates but finally gives a sharp nod, hope once again coming into his dark eyes. "Okay. Okay, I'll believe. They have true love."

"Operation Scorpion?"

"Operation Scorpion. And Operation Swan, keeping my sister secret," he states firmly, wiping his palms on his pajama bottoms.

David grins. "It's still early. Wanna get out and go to Granny's before we start this mission?"

He nods and rises from the bed. The wolf raises its head but then falls back down again. "Yeah, let's get some food."

He helps Henry into the only clothes he has here. They will unfortunately have to stop by Regina's to get more. That will be an interesting trip. And where did Graham's things go after he died? He rubs his temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache start.

"All set, kid?" he asks distractedly. He is dressed, but thinks he should grab a sweater from the truck before they head out in earnest.

Henry nods as he ties his shoes. "Set."

They enter the living area cautiously, but once they reach the couch, they find Graham only staring at the ceiling, an arm thrown across his forehead. His eyes crinkle as he sees them. "Morning."

David shakes his head. "Did any of us get rest?" he sighs.

Graham chuckles and pushes to an upright position. "Going somewhere?" There is blatant hope in his voice.

David nods. "Food first. Granny's. Are you ready to reenter the living?" he asks wryly.

Graham rolls up the flannel sleeves. "Might as well do it sometime. You have anything I can borrow or I am arriving in silk trousers and flannel?"

David shakes his head good-humoredly. "I think I have extra jeans here."

Accommodating will be interesting. Henry in Emma's bed, he in Snow's, and Graham taking the couch would work for now. They'd need something different when the girls returned. _When_.

He returns to see Graham and Henry talking side-by-side. He does a quick double-take and shakes his head. They almost look related. He's had too little sleep, he surmises.

"Let's get going," he says as he tosses him the item of clothing. Graham smiles his thanks and goes to the bathroom to change.

Henry gives him a smile. "Operation Swan is in full effect," he says with a thumb's up.

The group head to Granny's while it's still early. The sun has risen but its low in the horizon. It's dewy and chilled despite the summer month. They hesitate at the door. Graham pulls a hand through the stubble on his chin. "I can't exactly just walk in and say 'I'm not dead,' can I?" he says sardonically. Worry still plays across his features.

David shakes his head. "I'll go first and … warn people. Henry, stay with Graham and run interference with anyone coming up, okay?"

Henry's look is serious. "Got it!"

David enters the shop and sees Granny wiping down the counter and Red sweeping in the back. "You're open?" he asks.

Granny smiles warmly. "Yes, James, we are. Still gotta feed the hungry masses! Should we get a nice breakfast for you and Henry?"

Red walks up and gives him a hug, her face determinedly fierce. He notices that she is dressing more life herself now. Her stomach is covered and most of her cleavage is below her neckline. Her makeup is more natural, her hair curly and falling around her shoulders. She's no longer dressing to anger her grandmother. She looks like Red instead of Ruby and it makes him nostalgic. She grasps his forearms as she pulls away. "We also want to offer our help. Anything we can do to get Emma and Snow back."

David smiles weakly. "Thank you, Red, Granny. I will be taking you up on that." He shoots a look to the door. "We have a development in a different area."

Granny's look is all business, the rag stilling in her hand. "What's going on?" He smiles slightly, knowing that if his next words involved them being in danger, she'd be organizing the hunting party immediately.

"Graham's alive."

There is absolute stillness after that. Finally Red breathes. "Really?" her voice cracks.

Granny holds a hand to her heart. "Oh, thank God," she exhales. "That boy was far too young to be passing on so soon. And a heart attack? That always seemed too fishy." Then she looks puzzled. "Do we know who he was back then?"

David nods. "He was a friend. He gave up his freedom for Snow and I. For Emma, ultimately."

Red bites her lip, resting her forearms on the counter. "The Huntsman. Snow mentioned him. Oh, God, Regina must've killed him." He can see the wheels turning. She was there, helping them the night of the wraith, and knows he needs to bring it up.

David closes his eyes briefly. "Red, you can't tell him what you know about Emma."

Red looks stricken but Granny's look is knowing. "You mean that's she's pregnant?" the older woman asks.

David stifles a groan. "_You_ know?"

"Oh, honey," Granny begins, tossing her rag down and placing her hands on her hips. "The girl switched from three coffees a day and the occasional beer or something harder to _strictly_ tea and hot chocolate. I've known a good long time."

David's face screws up. "Does anyone else know?"

Granny and Red share a look and shrug. "August and her were close, wherever he is. And knowing Regina, I bet she'd have gotten wind of it, somehow."

"Why don't you want him to know, James?" Red asks next, refocusing.

He almost winces at Red calling him by that name, but he can't go into _why_ his real name is David just yet. He had always been Prince or King James in their world. He had been David only to his parents and to Snow in the most private settings. She preferred to use his nickname more often, however. He fumbles in his head for an excuse to her question.

"Is it his kid?" Granny adds. Then she shakes her head as if realizing how it sounds. "Never mind, it's not any of my business."

"It's mine, she's my goddaughter," Red grumbles. Then she frowns. "But I have no clue _when_ that could have happened." She looks thoughtful and he is greatly disturbed by the fact that Red is trying to pinpoint when the two could have conceived a child. It's too much; if she keeps that look on her face _he_ might start thinking about it.

"Guys, stop," David says, holding his head. "He can't know, so put a lid on it. If you happen to speak to anyone else that knows, please pass the word on. I gotta go back out or else this is going to look suspicious."

David leaves the restaurant knowing that the two women would keep the secret just because he asked. He's unsure how the others will be to the same request. He sighs when he approaches the guys. Henry is staring at the street attentively, eyes rapidly darting back and forth through the street, looking very much like a watch dog. However, this early after the broken curse, no one else seems to be awake and active. Graham gives a half shrug and David nods. Graham takes Henry carefully by the shoulder and they go back in wordlessly.

Red is outright staring at Graham as she approaches. Her mouth is slack and her eyes are wide, as if she'd blink and he'd disappear. "Wow. Hey, Graham," she says tentatively.

Graham smiles timidly. "Hey, Ruby. How are you?"

Red shakes her head, looking at him in a daze. "This is so strange. Welcome back." She pulls her arms around him tightly and Granny is right behind her.

"Sheriff, it's good to see you again," Granny says and there is a hitch in her voice. "Coffee for the adults? Yeah, I'll get some ready." She leaves in a hurry, not necessarily hiding her emotion.

Red wipes tears from her eyes and finally smiles. "God, I'm such a wreck. What do you guys want?"

Henry pipes up. "Do you have avocado?"

* * *

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note**: I guess I should have more faith in my readers! Thank you so much for all the reviews, alerts, and favorites! We have a new POV again! I actually wrote this in after writing chapter 10 since I noticed that I needed something to explain motivations. Contains some dialogue from 2x02. It actually ended up being longer than I thought, but still on the short side. Back to regular posting Monday!

Guest Comments

**BossLady**: David's really trying to find his place in this new, disjointed family. He'll have more problems, but his insecurities will be a motivating factor sometimes. They'll have a speed bump in getting Graham's things; chapter 10 will show this. How Graham will learn about Emma and later Neal and Killian will be an interesting (and delayed) trip.

**Abigail**: Thanks! We'll get to see more of the Enchanted Forest in chapter 11!

**Astacia**: Thank you! Welcome, welcome! You'll have a bit of a wait, but I hope you enjoy!

Love to my lovely lurkers!

* * *

The candle flickers and then flames, its pale gold light swaying in the gentle breeze from the open window. The soft light reflects against the creamy lightness of the wax, causing it to pool and overflow down from its tapered top.

Regina smiles. She can feel the magic swelling inside her, ready to be expelled. She didn't feel this way when the citizens attacked her or when the imprint of the wraith was seared into her flesh. No, this was something different.

It came from outside herself.

It came from that damn woman.

No matter, as long as she had her magic back. But once she turns to try to flame the logs in the fireplace the same as she did the candle, the light flickers and dies, the smoke rising from the kindling like a ghost mocking her inability. Her fingers fly again, throwing more power behind it. To her horror, she feels that the power is sapping, and she cannot even get the smoke to rise.

"No, no, no, no!" she cries, grabbing a book off the mantle and throwing it to the ground with a clatter, its pages scattering across the floor after the spine collapses.

She drags a hand through her cropped hair and shakes with frustration. Yesterday, the magic had been potent, like a drunk sort of clarity that her fingers itched to expel into creative expression. She had used it in new ways, conjuring the wallpaper into a weapon, something she's never done before. The power had been heady. Was that how Miss Swan felt all the time?

She breathes in deeply, flexing her fingers once again, back to the candle. The flame is weaker this time, but there is still some magic left.

A product of true love. Who knew that was the key to power? Her mother and father had certainly not had true love. What her and Daniel had may have been, but it was violently yanked away before she had the chance to fully explore it. She closes her eyes, wishing not for the first time that she had subverted the traditions and made love to Daniel before her mother had the chance to lay a finger on him. Sometimes, if she thinks hard enough, she could translate the memory of his kisses and the feel of his calloused fingers on the skin of her forearms into a lover's touch. Snow had killed any chance of its reality.

Regina destroyed any chance for a product of true love of her own long ago. It had been before her wedding night, when she had begged Rumplestiltskin for a reprieve. He gave her one in a potion that would destroy her womb. She didn't want any more heirs for King Leopold and certainly no more Snows walking around that world, so she had gladly drank the noxious fluid. Later, the old man hadn't even _tried_ to touch her, insisting instead that she be a mother to Snow only.

She had gladly brewed the potion again when King George sought a punishment for his new heir.

But that insipid girl had found a cure and birthed a Savior. At least with this curse she had some peace in that the woman would never know what it was to hold her infant, to raise it. She hopes Snow suffers with the knowledge every time she looks at the golden haired adult.

Regina had been smarter about things. Even after she destroyed her chance at pregnancy, she hadn't destroyed her chance to be a mother.

Henry, oh, God, Henry. She would get Henry back if it was the last thing she did. She is that boy's mother and she will prove it to everyone. He will come to her in the end. If she has to destroy everyone in her path to get him, she will. _That_ is true love.

If it wasn't for Miss Swan, everything would be perfect. She would have her son, the town would be under her thumb, her lust would be slaked on demand, and while her magic would be at bay it wouldn't be so bad because it meant Snow White was suffering.

The damn woman isn't even here and she is still making a mess of things. Henry is no longer living with her because of Swan.

First, she causes Henry to run away. Then, she moves to Storybrooke and slowly drives a wedge between her and her son. Then, she is able to pull Graham from under her careful fog of influence. She forced her hand, made her kill her most valuable pet. Then, being the idiotic woman that she is, she gets knocked up and Henry becomes even _more_ attached. Then, she breaks her carefully constructed curse.

Every time she thinks she's ruined the Charming family for good, they manage to weasel their way out of it. She presses a hand to her temple. It's just not fair. She is the one that was supposed to get a happy ending, not them.

Graham returning just adds a multitude of layers of horrible. Somehow, if 'Stitskin is to be trusted, Swan's powers brought back her happy ending. The father of her second bastard child to round out the saccharine family of sunshine and rainbows.

How is that fair? How is it that Emma gets her love revived from the dead but Daniel remains frozen in death, forever and ever?

There is a knock on her door and her lips purse into a tight frown. It couldn't be the townsfolk; they prefer to barge in. She walks stiffly to the entrance and pulls open the door.

"Regina," David nods. She almost smirks at his face. His eyes are red-rimmed and the bottom is smeared with dark bruises. His face is pale, face unshaven. He looks positively miserable and that couldn't make her happier.

She widens the door and he pushes past her, bumping into her shoulder purposefully as he strides in. When it is shut, he turns to her. "What is this?" he asks, holding up Jefferson's damaged hat.

She raises her head and arches a brow. "I'm surprised you don't have armed guards 'round the clock."

He smiles. "Don't need it. We both know the moment you walk outside, there's a mile long line for your head."

She huffs, tossing her shoulders back. "Who's going to risk coming at me?" Her fingers twitch again slightly, searching for what is left of the power boost Miss Swan had inadvertently given her.

David shakes his head. "Take your chances, then. But I think that little wallpaper trick? Was an anomaly. If you had your abilities back, this town would be _charcoal_ by now."

She frowns, knowing it to be true.

He picks up on it, proving he is not always as stupid as she believes him to be. Oh, certainly stupid enough, but not as much as he once was. "You're having problems with magic, aren't you?" He sneers. "Right now, do you know what's the only thing keeping you alive? It is that Henry wishes it," he threatens. He gestures with the hat again. "Now, this."

Her eyes flicker down at it and then meet his again. Does he honestly think she will respond to his baseless threats? Idiot. "It's the hat that pulled your loved ones away," she says flatly.

He audibly takes a deep breath and releases it. "Well," he drawls. "Where did you get it?"

She looks away, brushing an imaginary piece of lint from her clothing. "Oh, I've long since forgotten." If he's not able to get to them, well, that would solve at least half her problems. "You know what? Maybe, you should be less concerned with useless hats, and more concerned with taking care of my _son_."

His jaw tightens. "Oh, because you took such great care of him."

This strikes a nerve and her blood rushes through her veins. She itches to dissolve him to dust. "I will _not_ listen to child care lectures from a man who put his daughter in a _box_ and shipped her to Maine," she counters hotly.

His face pulls with regret. "Okay, fine." He sighs. "Apparently you forgot to mention to us yesterday that Graham is alive. He is taking care of Henry as well. If you don't trust me, surely you trust Henry's future stepfather."

Regina's feels heat creep up her neck, jealousy and anger fueling her words. "I apologize if my imminent death was higher on my list of priorities than telling you that the man who knocked up your daughter had come wandering into the station earlier." And she doesn't trust Graham with him. She doesn't trust anyone with her son's well-being but herself.

David stiffens. "Fine." He seems to deflate suddenly and she can practically see the tears brewing behind his eyes. "Okay, listen. I need my family. There's magic here now. There will have to be ways to follow them."

Her eye twitches. "Follow them where? Into a sucking airless void? And good luck getting magic to work. Because, as you said, you'd be charcoal."

David smirks. "Oh, frustrated, are we? Serves you right. You've earned every bit of this."

She squares her shoulders, jaw setting. "Keep on baiting me, Charming. Right now, I don't have magic and I don't have my son. But, when I get one, I get the other. And you don't want to be around when that happens."

He shakes his head sadly. "If you have to use magic to keep Henry, you don't really have him."

"We'll just see about that," she counters.

The silence builds between them, tension pulled taut against the air. Finally, David murmurs, "Henry will need his things."

Regina blinks. At least he is thinking about her son's welfare now. "I will gather them and send them early tomorrow," she says, wondering how it will feel to see Henry's life packed in boxes to be shipped to the _Charmings_ of all people.

David leans against the pillar and stares blankly at the hat. "You say you want to do right by Henry," he says, rolling the brim in his hands. "Then tell me who made the hat. Henry wants his family, including his purely innocent sister, back."

Regina feels a pang inside her. Not for the innocence of the sister, no, that has never stopped her before. Instead, it is for Henry, who somehow believes in and loves this sibling already. She feels herself submit before the words actually come. "His name is Jefferson. He lives in the mansion on the hill. _But_ I doubt he will have any more magic than I do."

"Thank you," David says. As he leaves, his hand lingers on the door. "Regina …," he begins, then shakes his head. "Thank you for loving Henry."

Regina frowns. "He's my son. Of course I do."

David smiles. "You didn't have to." He shuts the door behind him.

She curls her nose and twists back to the candle, watching the small flame dance. She needs her powers back to their full potential. She needs Henry back.

* * *

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note**: Thank you for all the reviews and love! I am so glad you all are enjoying this story; I am very much enjoying writing it. We aren't back in the Enchanted Forest yet, but we do have one more new POV (this POV won't show up again for a long while). There is also some dialogue and spoilers from 2x02, and this may be the longest chapter yet. No Thursday update this week, sorry guys!

P.S. A moment of silence for the shippers that died of Gremma feels last night via shoelace. I was among them (and may have spammed the crap out of my tumblr with feels).

Guest Comments

**BossLady**: Thank you for saying that you liked Regina's insight! This is where you reviewers help me decide where I need to flesh the story out more.

**Guest**: Thank you so much! Unfortunately, I won't be writing the Jefferson scene. Thus far, all I have of Jefferson is what was seen in (I Carry it in My Heart). I have so many other characters to work on that I don't think he's fitting so well, but I will always look for a place for him and Grace because I love their storyline.

**Abigail**: Thank you! Don't worry, updates will definitely be regular! Though they may change to biweekly later if I can churn out an ending in the next month!

* * *

It is going to be one of those kinds of days.

After breakfast, they had split ways. His grandpa left to "get his clothes" from his mom. Henry isn't stupid. He knows what his grandpa is doing and a part of him still worries. She almost killed him last time.

Graham and him are headed to Mr. Gold's to get his stuff. They duck past the townsfolk who are just waking up and don't pay attention to the man with his eyes turned to the sidewalk and the young boy grasping his hand. He knows Graham is worried about telling people about himself, though he can't imagine why just yet.

Henry sighs as he kicks a stone in his path. He still feels exhausted, but also weirdly awake. His body is buzzing with activity even as he drags his feet.

Graham seems to notice his uneasiness and smiles down at him, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "Don't worry, your granddad will be fine."

Henry makes a face. "Yeah, I know. But I feel like we should be helping, too, you know?"

Graham frowns. "Sure, I know the feeling. I should probably be starting up the sheriff's office again, too."

Henry studies Graham. So far, Graham had been more like … well, _Graham_ than the Huntsman in his book. Of course, a lot of things probably changed in almost thirty years. He really likes him. He's one of the good guys and he really wants to help out the people even though, according to his book, he never trusted them.

He remembers when he was younger. People would be afraid to _look_ at him the wrong way since he was the mayor's son. But Graham used to be one of the few that gave him attention. He would talk with him without talking down to him, making him laugh at stupid jokes. Graham never made him feel like he was crazy, though he never did anything to feed his so-called delusions until, of course, he remembered that they were anything but. It was only once his mom noticed that Graham stopped talking to him.

He remembers that day best. It was at Granny's, after school and he had been waiting for his mom. Graham had come in and fell into easy banter with him. On a whim, Graham had showed him how to hold and aim a dart properly. After several minutes, Henry was getting frustrated with not hitting the target. Graham had been patient and finally picked him up to place him standing on a bar stool and aligned his arm. He had only hit the far side of the board, but he had been so proud and Graham had laughed out in delight. Henry had brought his arms around his neck to hug him in thanks and that's when he saw his mom's face over his shoulder. Her eyes had been narrow and darker than he had ever seen them, mouth twisted into a snarl and jaw clenched. After that, there were no more conversations, even idly. Occasionally, Graham would smile at him or rest a hand on his head, but that was the extent of it until Emma came.

"Do you wanna go to the office? I can come, too. Emma lets me all the time," Henry offers, feeling almost-a-little bad about the lie.

Graham shoots him a look that tells him all he needs to know about the former Huntsman's gullibility. "Sure, Henry. All the time." He can't seem to keep a smile from crossing his face. "We'll see how things are after we go to Gold's and see what we can divine from him."

The shop bell chimes as they enter the store. Mr. Gold is using a brush on one of the figurines and smiles without looking up. "Back so soon, Huntsman?"

Graham stiffens at the name, his whole body on edge. Henry wonders about it but doesn't press.

"Do you have Graham's stuff, Mr. Gold? I remember mom talking about you having some things but I wasn't sure," Henry speaks up, knowing instinctively that he can act as a buffer.

Gold levels him with a look of disinterest before returning to the figurine, a soldier in tin. "Got it packed in storage, I believe."

"Well, I'll be needing it," comes Graham's curt response.

Gold looks up, his gaze evaluating. "It'll come with a price, dearie."

Graham's eyes narrow and Henry gets worried. Rumplestiltskin's deals were never a good thing. "And what would that be?"

Gold smiles and cocks his head to the side. "Why, just a strand of your hair."

Graham's brow furrows as he absently grasps a lock in his fingers. "Why would you want –"

"No," Henry cuts in. He takes a couple steps forward, as if he can protect Graham. "No, no hair."

Graham grabs his shoulder gently and pulls him back to him. "Why not, Henry?"

Henry tilts his head up to look at him. "He wants another true love potion. He'd need my mom's hair, too, but that's what he wants. More magic, the most powerful kind."

Graham's eyes unfocus when he mentions Emma but they clear almost immediately.

Gold smirks, rounding the counter and leaning against his cane. "A smart boy, you are, Henry. Been reading the book, have you? Well, what's so wrong with a true love potion? It is the purest form of magic. I am a fan of true love, as I'm sure you know. _Especially_ what it creates."

Henry's stomach is churning and he feels worry creep into his intestines to burrow and nest. He swallows hard. Emma is a product of true love and that's why she is so powerful. Graham's curse broke because Emma is _his_ true love. What would that make his sister? He nods purposefully, feeling defensive. "He shouldn't have to give you anything. It's his stuff."

Graham's hands are tightening on his shoulders, bringing him to stand behind him. Despite this, he glances up to Mr. Gold. "He has a point, 'Stiltskin."

Gold sneers. "Oh, you think so, do you, Huntsman?"

Graham's eyes dart to the back and then to Mr. Gold's face with sudden understanding at the quietness in the shop. "Where's Belle?"

Gold's eye twitches, just slightly, but it's enough to make Henry realize that they might be able to get out of this without a terrible deal. "She's gone. She preferred not to stay with me after what I did to Regina."

Graham's face breaks into a sudden smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "So, maybe I will talk to her if you give me my things."

Henry's breath releases in a long whoosh. He didn't even realize he was holding it. Graham was brilliant! This way, he wouldn't have to make a deal and Mr. Gold wouldn't have any more magic than he already had.

Gold is studying Graham intently and it brings back the worry. "I'll help you get it out of storage, Mr. Gold," he interjects and pulls Mr. Gold by the hand to the back of the store, despite Graham's protests. He looks back. "It's okay, Graham. That looks like a box there. I'll get the rest."

He pulls Mr. Gold into the depths of the shop and notices that the older man is onto him. "What is this about, Henry?"

Henry sighs and peers around the corner. Graham is looking at him, his dark blue eyes intensely fixed on him but just out of earshot. He looks back at Gold. "Look, you can't tell Graham about my sister."

Mr. Gold's eyebrow raises but otherwise he doesn't give a reaction.

Henry sighs, trying to remember all the arguments his grandpa made that morning but at the end he leaves it all out. "_Please_, promise me. I'll help with Belle, too. I'm a kid. Girls like kids!"

Gold shakes his head, chuckling. "I will keep my knowledge to myself if you bring her this." He pulls a locket, seemingly out of nowhere, to dangle pendulously in the air. Henry studies it, fascinated. It is a thick oval made of soft silver, gleaming in the low light, with a deep purple stone at its center. It smells like rain.

"What is it?"

Gold smirks. "It's protection."

Henry grabs it, finding that it is ice cold in his hands. He winces and drops it hastily in his pocket. It chills him slightly, but then he feels stronger, more in control. His eyes meet Gold's. "Fine. Where's Graham's stuff?"

They gather his things quickly. Mr. Gold basically lied as most of his things are boxed in one of the rooms as if he was expecting him. There were only a couple extra things in his attic. Graham has taken to actually physically moving Henry out of Gold's way whenever he gets too close. Maybe it's a good thing. They don't know how much they can trust Rumplestiltskin, after all. But he was Belle's beast, so maybe he's not all bad.

They are back on the street, clothing and personal things back at the apartment, an hour later. Henry and Graham are heading to the town square so they can get to the library. Henry's pocket warms suddenly and he frowns. He pulls the locket from his pocket and stares at it. The stone looks more like a diamond now and is warmer than the air around them.

Graham glances down at him, sensing his change in mood. "What?"

Henry shakes his head. "Not sure. Let's get it to Belle." He stuffs it hastily back in his pocket.

"Henry! Oh, Henry, where's your grandpa?" a cry rings out and then suddenly Archie is running toward him. He stops short when he sees Graham. He gapes at him a moment or two and Henry thinks that this is probably the most bug-like he's seen Dr. Hopper.

Graham smiles nervously and awkwardly juts out a hand. "Nice to see you again, Dr. Hopper."

Archie sputters a moment and then is joined by Mother Superior. "Jiminy, we need to collect more people to head the Crisis Center and …," she trails off at the sight of Graham. "Sheriff?"

Henry rolls his eyes. "He's alive, he's okay, now what do you need?"

Blue's mouth opens and shuts before she shakes her head. There is something weird in the light in her eyes, something he can't describe. It fades quickly. "We've been needing more people for the Crisis Center, but what we really need is King James. His meeting is starting in twenty minutes."

Henry and Graham exchange a glance. "His meeting?"

Archie nods. "He called a meeting so he could tell us his plan."

Graham's mouth sets in a firm line. Henry knows full well that it is unlikely that his grandfather found a plan that quickly, especially without telling them. "David was finishing up interrogating someone who may know how to get Emma and Snow," Graham says evenly. "I'd love to help, but …." He looks down at him again but there is a different worry in his eye as they meet.

"Of course, Sheriff. I think it might cause more issues if you were heading up a command post, anyway. However, if you do see the king," Jiminy said, still staring at him curiously.

Graham nodded. "I will send him your way."

Henry takes his hand and they head in the direction of the library again. "Why are you so worried about people knowing you're back?"

Graham sighs. "It's hard to explain, Henry," he says and they round the library and sit out of sight. His eyes seem distressed and he begins pacing. "It's a lot of reasons, Henry. First … well, I wasn't exactly well-liked here. Regina … she had me under her thumb and everyone knew it. Back there, I was the Evil Queen's huntsman and I tried to disobey her all I could, but sometimes, Henry …." He's panting, frantic now and his accent is clipping and becoming more and more apparent. "And I've come back from the dead and I don't know why. People are going to start wondering how they can get their loved ones back and I just don't _know_."

Henry gets up and makes him stop. "Graham, I think everyone understands and will understand. I don't think they'll hold it against you. She had your heart." Henry pauses, not wanting to ask again if it was really his mom who killed him. He's not quite sure he's ready to hear the answer. He quirks a half-smile instead. "Besides, Emma trusts you. And they'll trust Emma since she's their Savior."

Graham drops a hand on his head and smiles even though his face seems sad. "I guess we really need your mom back, then, don't we?"

Henry smiles, feeling that part of it is forced. He hates sometimes that he can't mention the other reason they need to get Emma back. He can't have his sister being born in that other world.

They finally walk into the library and find Belle quickly. "Hu-, Graham! Good to see you!" she cries, pulling her arms around the man.

Henry beams. She is just as he pictured: richly dark hair, friendly ice-blue eyes, and a warm smile. Plus, her voice is cool to listen to; it makes him want to ask Graham about accents in their land. He wants to know this woman. She seems cheerful and sweet, and the book said that she was really intelligent and went on adventures and stuff.

"Hi, I'm Henry. My mom's his true love," he introduces himself as he sticks out a hand.

Belle's eyes widen and then they scrunch in amusement. She takes his hand and turns to Graham. "'His true love.' Holding out on me, mister!"

Graham blushes, actually _blushes,_ as the statement. Henry can see it even under his beard. "We're to talk to you about 'Stiltskin. A trade in exchange for my things," he clarifies, changing the subject completely.

Henry reaches in his pocket and pulls out the pendant. It's room temperature now, the stone a soft blue. "This is for you, too. He's says it's for protection."

Belle reaches out and carefully takes it in her hands like it's something precious. "This is from our world," she breathes. She turns it over in her hands. "It's a protection gem. It's enchanted to act like a personal shield, for lack of a better term."

Graham nods. "Glad to have it brought to you, then. There's going to be a meeting at the Town Hall in a few minutes. Do you mind if we cut the convincing short? You and Gold seem to like each other. That's nice. Make your own decision."

Belle laughs. "Yes, Graham, that will be fine." She kneels next to him. "It was very nice to meet you, Henry."

Henry grins at her. "Thanks."

"Would you like to walk with us to the meeting?" Graham asks politely.

Belle shakes her head. "No, there are still some people I'd like to avoid just now. I'll come when it's time," she replies with a smile.

Graham gives an empathetic smile and sighs. "To the Town Hall, I suppose," he mutters and grabs Henry's hand again.

When they enter, the place is chaos. "Henry!" He turns to the cry, spotting Ruby making her way through the people. She gives Graham and him a side hug and thrusts her cellphone at him. "Try calling your grandfather. He's not here yet and people are getting really anxious."

The devise is as bright red as the extensions in Ruby's hair. He shrugs. He punches in the numbers quickly, but there is only ringing. "C'mon, gramps, pick up," he mutters, feeling the anxiety in the air climb.

"Just be calm people, I'm sure he'll be here soon!" Ruby cries to the group. Her eyes are wide and anxious. He can tell she is worried about the crowd going crazy.

Graham eyes Granny, whose crossbow is clutched at her side. "Are you sure you really need that?" he asks quietly, gesturing to the weapon.

Granny's smile is placating. "It's a lawless town right now, Sheriff. Damn right I need it."

Ruby rolls her eyes at her grandmother then presses a hand to his back. "Keep trying, Henry."

A crash is heard as the door slams open and everyone turns in unison to the entrance. His mom grandly walks in, casually sauntering towards the group. Unconsciously, they begin huddling together and Graham's hands are back on his shoulders.

His mom's eyes are cold, angry. "My, what a large turnout. No need to fuss. It's just little old me," she says, her chin rising and hands falling to her hips.

"Regina," Archie says, walking cautiously toward her. "Think about what you're doing."

His mom sneers. "Bug," she calls him, sweeping him to the side with a wave of her hand. Henry's mouth drops open.

"Hey!" Leroy yells, but the same is done to him. Granny's had about enough and raises the crossbow and shoots it. Regina only catches it in her hand.

"How sweet," she says caustically as she studies the arrow. It flicks and suddenly there is a puff of green that lights to a ball of fire. Henry's eyes widen as she hurls it to the crowd, barely missing Dr. Whale before it ricochets to hit the sign above her. She looks as evil as he's ever seen her, all dressed in black with flames licking behind her head. Her tense eyes gleam in the light and a smile stretches across her face.

"What does she want?" Ruby hisses as she backs away and that's when it dawns on him.

"Me," he breathes. "She wants me."

"No." Graham's reply is quick, definitive. "She's not taking you, Henry."

Regina is now near them and her eyes are narrowed on Graham. "Well, good afternoon, Huntsman." She circles him like a shark. There are some light gasps in the crowd when they see Graham, but otherwise it is silent in anticipation. Henry shivers as Graham pulls him close with an unchanged expression. She tilts her head as she faces him again. "You just got your heart back. Do you wish to lose it again so soon?"

"No!" Henry cries but Graham is steady, pushing him behind his back.

"I don't care, Regina. You _will_ have to go through me to get Henry."

Her eye twitches. "So brave. So sacrificing," she murmurs and her hand meets his chest but doesn't push through. Henry can feel him just barely shaking. "This is exactly why I tore it from you in the first place, Huntsman." She steps back, her palm coloring red. "I didn't come this far just so I could get nothing while Snow White gets her happy ending and her daughter has Henry, you, and your adorable –"

"I'll come with you!" Henry shouts. She turns to him in surprise, her hands losing the bright crimson color. She blinks as if remembering just now that he was listening.

"Henry," Graham says sharply, a warning.

He ignores it. "Don't hurt him! I'll come with you! Just leave everyone alone!"

Regina's lips curl into a smile. "That's a good boy." With a flick of her wrist, Graham tumbles to the ground, frozen. She ignores Graham after that and scoops him up and it takes everything in him not to struggle.

With another wave, they are back at the manor. He feels disoriented at the sudden change in scenery. It is suddenly as cold as the ceramic tiles beneath his feet and the stark white walls surrounding him. He tears free from her grip and runs up the stairs.

"Henry …."

He slams the door shut and the boom reverberates throughout the house. Immediately, he finds his homemade rope of sheets in his closet, tying it to his bedframe to make an escape. He jumps out the window once it's secured, but to his shock, the tree unfolds its branches and catches him, wrapping around to bring him back.

"Don't fight it, honey. You'll get a splinter," his mom calls soothingly as he is brought back in.

He glares at her once he hits the ground. "So, I'm a prisoner?"

She looks at him sympathetically. "Oh, Henry. I rescued you. I did that because I love you."

His eyes narrow. "So, I'm a prisoner because you love me? That doesn't make any sense."

Regina sighs. "Henry, this is crazy …."

Henry's blood is rushing through his ears. "No, you made me believe I was crazy this entire time! You made it so no one would believe me! I was right, but you sent me to Dr. Hopper and told me it was all made up! That wasn't fair!"

Something changes behind her eyes though the sympathy still covers it. "No, where I come from, that wasn't fair. Of all the places I've traveled, this is the fairest of them all."

Henry feels the tears building behind his eyes and he sniffs loudly. "But you sent Emma and Mary Margaret there! You sent my _sister_ there!"

She falters and sits beside him on the bed, her face screwing up. It seems that the mention of his sister is always what makes her pause. "I didn't mean to, Henry. That was an accident."

Tears fall down his face actively. "But it doesn't change anything. They're lost." Finally, he reaches into what she said at Town Hall, the question that has been plaguing him since he first saw Graham again. "And you killed Graham. You killed him, just because he was remembering!"

Regina freezes. She looks away from him. "That was a long time ago, Henry."

Henry shakes his head in disbelief. "It was less than a year ago, mom! You didn't know that he might come back! You were just jealous that Emma was his true love!"

Her lips purse into a tight line, back ramrod straight and hands clenched into fists. "Henry, whatever Emma might have told you –"

"Emma didn't tell me _anything_! Graham's curse broke with true love's kiss! My mom got pregnant! They would have had a happy ending, been a family, and that made you mad! Then you killed him, _just_ like your mom killed Daniel …. How could you? I don't understand how you could have done that!" He's crying in earnest now. His mom killed him. She didn't even try to deny it.

She rises, brushing the hem of her dark dress down. Her face is deceptively impassive. "I don't know what I can say," she says slowly. She swallows. "Graham is alive now."

He swipes his eyes on his sleeve and hiccups. "You didn't know that would happen."

She doesn't say anything, so he knows it's true. A tentative smile crosses her face. "Henry, I can teach you about magic now. I can teach you so you can have everything you want."

Henry glares at her. "No. I don't want magic. I don't want to be _you_. I just want my mom, grandma, and sister back!"

Regina sighs and leaves the room without another word, heels clicking along the hardwood floor.

He sits, crying quietly, for hours.

Finally, Regina returns, her mouth in a thin line. She looks on edge, stiff and unnatural. "I know that I've made mistakes. I hope … I hope someday you will see the reasons I got to where I am."

Henry sniffles. "I know what happened. It doesn't excuse _anything_."

Regina looks away. "Maybe … maybe if you go with David and Graham, then you'll know." He looks up at her incredulously. "It seems I've forgotten how to love. I'm sorry I lied to you. And that I made you feel like you were crazy. But I want you to be here because you want to be here. Not because I forced you, and not because of magic. I want to redeem myself." She sighs and stands. "Go get your things."

"Really?" he asks, brushing away the last of his tears.

She nods. "They're downstairs."

Henry scoops up his backpack and shoves as much as he can into it. The rest seems to already by boxed.

"Henry, I hope you can start trusting me after this. I am trying. And I will try to get your sister back."

Henry pauses, noting something. His mom would help, but only because of what his sister meant to him. He feels heavy at that knowledge, but at least it was something. "Thank you." Then he bites his lip, remembering something. "Don't tell people about my sister, okay? And don't tell Graham. Maybe I'll visit you more if you don't tell Graham."

Her brows furrow but she reaches forward and brushes back his hair. "If that's what you want, Henry, then that's what you'll get."

He can't hug her. Though he is relieved and that is usually what he would do, he can't bring himself to get close to her right now. Instead, he finds the will to smile at her. "Maybe I'll be able to forgive you someday."

* * *

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note**: This chapter contains some dialogue and spoilers from 2x05 and 2x06. Another new POV here. As always, thank you for your reviews and support! My muse wouldn't cooperate without all this Gremma love!

Also, I made a deal with grahamsshoelace that if I made it to chapter 30 in my pre-writing, that I'd begin biweekly posts. So look out for Thursdays as well as Mondays from now on!

Guest Comments

**Abigail**: You're the only guest this time around! Thank you so much for saying so! I hope I can keep it up!

Hi to the lurkers! Hope you're enjoying!

* * *

Killian Jones is a known cutthroat, thief, and all around baddie. He had made that name for himself in the years he had been at sea and the near-to-sixty that he had sought a way to get his revenge. He went up against Peter Pan numerous times and came out unscathed. He is notorious, a legend, and always got what he wanted.

Which is why it is so strange to be tied to a tree now by this lot of princesses.

"I already told you, I'm just a blacksmith," he cries, making sure his voice trembles with just the right amount of fear and betrayal.

"Sure, you are." The blonde reaches up and whistles loudly. "You want to talk to us? Maybe you'll wanna talk to the ogres when they rip you limb from limb." Hook's eyes narrow. _Find the pretty pregnant princess and her party; they will be easy to fool_. Sure, Cora. Simple.

A roar and a thunderous step makes its way through the trees. "Come on," the blonde says with a smile, heading away from where he is lashed.

The warrior steps to the side, giving him a once-over and raising her blade. "Are we sure this isn't Cora herself? Another of her tricks?"

The dark-haired pixie shakes her head. "No. Cora would have found a way out of this by now. Rope wouldn't stop her."

"You can't just leave me here like this!" he shouts, feeling part of his character breaking back into Hook.

The auburn-haired princess cocks her head to the side. "What if he's telling the truth?"

"He's not," the blonde answers firmly, not even looking at him as she walks away. The girl watches him with big, apologetic eyes but follows her companions.

He wants to spit, he's so mad. This act has gotten him through gated doors, back rooms, armed guards, and many a lass' skirt. "Good for you!" he shouts, all traces of the blacksmith gone. However, the sarcasm is less caustic than he'd hoped. He is impressed by the fact; he admires her in a way. Able to see through his act, through her pregnancy hormones. "You've bested me. I can count the amount of people who have done that on one hand."

The blonde steps forward cautiously. "Is that supposed to be funny?" she asks with a quirk of the eyebrow. Oh, he's angered it. He's forgotten that pregnant and hormonal can also mean temperamental. "Who are you?"

He sighs. "Killian Jones." He squints. "But most people have taken to calling me by my more colorful moniker." She tilts her head as a way of saying "go on." He bares his teeth. "Hook."

"Hook," the pixie one breathes, her pale face growing whiter even as she shakes her head in a sort of angry disbelief. He deduces that this is Snow White. Proper name.

"Search my satchel," he dares the queen.

The blonde's eyes narrow. "As in _Captain_ Hook?"

He smirks, glad the name still persists. "Ah, so, _you've_ heard of me."

The queen rummages through his satchel until she pulls out the gleaming piece of metal. She gasps sharply, and the sounds of the ogres pierce the sky.

"You better hurry up, they're getting closer. So unless you wanna be dinner, you better start talking," Blondie asserts in a hushed voice.

He heaves a wheezy chuckle. With a shake of his head, he concedes to the one who bested him. "Cora wanted me to gain your trust, so I could learn everything there is to know about your Storybrooke," he says with a sneer, drawing out the words in derision. "She didn't want any surprises when she got over there."

"She can't get there, we destroyed the wardrobe," Snow declares.

"Ah, but the enchantment remains," he says, his voice purring with pleasure. He feels better having told them something they believed to be impossible is indeed possible. He pulls forward and is abruptly stopped by the rope. His displeasure mounts again. "Cora gathered the ashes. She's gonna use them to open up the portal," he hisses.

A crash sounds, closer this time. He wriggles in anticipation. "Now, if you'd _kindly_ cut me loose."

"No," the warrior says. She turns, sword brandished as she makes her point. "We should leave him here to die, to pay for all the lives that he took."

"That was Cora, not me," he clarifies angrily. He's taken plenty of lives, but he shouldn't be held accountable for these.

The blonde princess steps back. "Let's go."

"Wait," he says evenly. At their retreating steps, his panic finally rises. "Wait!" he shouts. A growl sounds. "You need me alive."

The blonde turns back with a look of doubt. "Why?"

"Because we both want the same thing. To get back to your land."

Her eyes are wide, trying hard to pull back emotion. "You will say anything to save yourself, why are we supposed to believe you now?"

"I arranged for transport with Cora. But, seeing how resourceful _you_ are, I'll offer you the same deal. I'll help you, if you promise to take me along." He is giving his word at that. He respects this woman, with her distended belly and gleaming eyes. She is a challenge, strong and smart.

Whitey tightens her bow. "How are _you_ going to help us get home?"

"The ashes will open a portal. To find your land, she needs more. There's an enchanted compass. Cora seeks it." He turns his head to meet Blondie's eyes. "I'll help _you_ obtain it before she does."

"So Cora won't make it to Storybrooke and we'll be one step closer to getting home," Emma sums. She turns to look at Pixie. She shakes her head hard.

"Sounds too good to be true," the queen says softly.

"Only one way to find out," he sneers.

The roars pick up. Blondie takes a dagger and juts it at his throat again. The metal is warm against his neck. "You tell me one thing. And whatever you say, I better believe it." She swallows and narrows her eyes on him. "Why does Captain Hook want to go to Storybrooke?"

He looks her over, feeling sweat bead on his temple at how close his ending chapter is. Finally, he responds. "To exact revenge on the man who took my hand. Rumplestiltskin."

With this, she nods and the warrior cuts him down. Immediately, they all run in the opposite direction of the ogres.

Once they are several acres away, he finally turns to them with a breathless laugh. "Well, that was a bit of fun."

Blondie snarls. "Tie his hands, Mulan."

The warrior steps forward and begins lashing his arms together. A feat, he will admit, with his missing hand. He smirks at the warrior. She is rather pretty, even up close, and he relishes in watching the female in her work. "Mulan, eh? I should have met you at camp earlier. We could have had a bit of fun with these skills," he preens. She jerks the rope to dig into his skin and he grunts. "There you go, love."

She says nothing in reply and only steps back to the rest of the group. They do not make a fearsome bunch, even with the various weapons dangling at their sides. A full-on princess in a bloody crown, a warrior with a pretty face, a baby-faced pixie dressed in pink, and a largely pregnant blonde.

"So, am I able to keep calling you names based on your … more _promising_ physical attributes, or do I get to know the real ones?" He relishes in seeing them squirm at his innuendo. It is a tool he brandishes easily, one so simple to disarm a female whether they enjoy the notion or not. Either worked in his favor.

Blondie snorts and points to the ground. "Just lead us in the right direction, Hook."

He jerks his head toward the west and they all begin that way. He observes their pairings, as they don't seem too keen on talking to him. They fall effortlessly into groups of two, one princess to each; Snow and Blondie on one side, Mulan and Miss Royal on the other. He can tell who is used to the trek and who is not. It is really quite amusing. He picks up snatches of their conversations, but idly pretends that he doesn't.

"It's getting dark. We'll stop here for the night," Snow states once the sun has dipped over the horizon. The rest nod, exhaustion cresting in at least two of the women.

"Should I be lookout for this one?" Mulan asks, grabbing his tied arms and pulling him stumbling forward.

Blondie shakes her head. "No, we all need rest if we're going up against Cora. Tie him to the tree."

"What? Oh, for crying out loud," he says as he is knocked back into the tree with a grunt. The wood digs into his spine, putting pressure awkwardly on his back.

"Quiet," Mulan hisses, throwing a rope around his waist and looping it several times over. His eyes take the opportunity to sweep over her lithe, powerful form. Not quite his type, but she'd have been fun to play with. He looks over to see the auburn-haired princess watching interestedly. She is also lovely with her fine bones and long lashes. A bit on the weaker side, but would still have been an entertaining game had it been a few decades earlier.

"Emma, I still think we'll need a lookout," Snow says cautiously, pulling the pink sweater tighter across her chest.

Emma. Interesting name.

"No, Cora thinks she's got us where she wants us. We'll be safe," Emma says confidently. She is a smart one, he thinks. Recklessly bold, perhaps, but smart.

They basically forget him, building a fire and making a quick meal that the two skilled ones hunt. They eat in relative silence, each group eyeing the other while trying to hide it. He can tell they don't quite trust each other and he wonders how he can use that to his advantage.

Slowly, one by one, they settle to sleep away from the main fire pit. He is annoyed at the lack of attention, but he's gone longer without food and conversation before and they're not cruel women. They'll feed him eventually, both literally and metaphorically.

The sky has darkened to a deep purple, the full moon and crackling fire keeping the night from turning black. The air smells of burning wood and open spaces, the trees casting long shadows into their clearing. He looks up and uses the stars to determine where they are and how far they have left to go. He thinks he has a fair approximation after about ten minutes and adjusts against the trunk to see if he might be able to drift off.

An hour after the breathing evens out, he is still utterly awake. From across the way, Blondie pops her head up with a sigh. She makes her way from her makeshift bed and approaches the fire to sit on a stone.

"Couldn't sleep, love?"

His voice startles her and she looks up. Her eyes seem haunted, but then she blinks and it's gone. "Not exactly the easiest place to."

"Aye," he agrees, gesturing to the tree. She huffs and rises, the swell of her belly stretching her clothes tight. She approaches him.

"I will have my eye on you, have no doubt," she grinds out.

He smiles at her, waiting for her to find the allusion in it. "I would despair if you didn't," he attests with grin.

Her narrowed eyes meet his and then she uses her dagger to cut him loose. The ropes pool at his feet and he stretches languidly.

"Ah, thanks, lass. It is appreciated." She doesn't even reply as she walks back to the fire. With a sigh, he joins her. She glares at him as he sits next to her.

He looks her up and down. She is a tiny thing for being so pregnant. Her stomach is obvious but her frame makes it just so. He's seen plenty of wenches with bellies twice that size and still many more months to go. She seems self-conscious over it, like she only now knows _how_ to show it. Perhaps that is why it is so much fun to mess with her. And simpler, to boot. "What to do with this alone time, I wonder?" he asks as he wraps an arm around her shoulder.

She jerks away, glowers, and rises. "Do you need food?" she grumbles out.

Killian snickers, pleased to have trapped her with no comeback to be found. "I'll have some of that leftover whatever-it-is you had."

She picks up the cold mystery meat from the rocks and hands it to him. He sinks his teeth into it ravenously. It is gamey and his jaw begins to ache from chewing, but it isn't the worst thing he's put in his mouth.

He notices that she is still watching him closely, contempt written across her face. "You aren't one to trust easy, are you, lass?" he sighs.

"I'd think you'd be used to that," she retorts. Her hand rests on her lower back and she straightens her legs in front of her.

"Ah, the pirate thing, is it, love?" he chuckles around a mouthful of food. "Well, I don't really need you to talk much. You're a bit of an open book, as it were."

"Am I?" she asks skeptically with a raised brow. Her face is lovely in this dim light. Pale smooth skin, spirals of fire-lit hair, sea-colored eyes glinting with defiance and strength. He almost unconsciously begins to compare her with Milah in the latter. She is the first woman he's met since her death that has been able to challenge him.

"Quite." He holds up a hand like he's reading her. "You're to be a mother, but you're also trying to get home to someone. A child, your child. Desperate to get there, in fact."

"Doesn't take much of a psychic to know that. You've got evidence right in front of your eyes for the first part and even the cleanest of watching could have let you know I am trying to get back to my son. Eavesdropping does not perception make," she says cheekily.

"Ah, but you don't want him to be abandoned the way you were abandoned," he asserts next, his eyes softening slightly.

She stiffens and looks away. "Was I?"

"Like I said, love, open book," he grins, taking another bite. "I lived amongst the Lost Boys, you forget. They all had that same look about them."

She scoffs. "Yeah, well. No Neverland where I came from."

Killian perks up. His tales have reached this new world, how thrilling. And she has heard them! Why, this will be interesting once he gets there.

She is hovering almost protectively over her belly now and he wonders if it is part of her defense mechanism. "Love has been all too rare in your life, hasn't it?" He studies her, the empty ring hand, the brokenness. He cocks his head to the side. "Have you ever even _been_ in love?"

She pauses. "No," she replies automatically, tossing a stone into the flames.

_Ah, there's the lies, lass_, he thinks and wipes his mouth.

"Who's Milah?"

He nearly chokes. He looks her over with narrowed eyes. "Who?"

She gestures to his arm and he sees how the cloth has ridden up to reveal his tattoo. He yanks the sleeve down and shifts his weight. "Someone from long ago."

"Where is she?" she asks, leaning back against a log, her long tresses shifting down her back.

He looks down, remembering her foggy green eyes, her thick dark curls, her warmth beside him. If he closes his eyes, he would see her in front of him with that grand smile that she saved for him. His eyes remain resolutely open. "She's gone," he replies simply, sharply.

He can see her brain actively working behind those sea-colored eyes. "Gold. Or, Rumplestiltskin, whatever. He didn't just take your hand, did he?" Her eyes are sad and pitying and he hates that she is now seeing him as weak. "_That's_ why you want to kill him."

His lip curls and he clicks his tongue. "For someone who's never been in love, you're quite perceptive, aren't you?" he pushes back. The ache is returning, the one that never quite heals.

She shrugs and he can see the pain enveloping her like a cloak. Her eyelids kiss and part, inky soft lashes soaring above flightless eyes. There is hopelessness, devastation there, reflected as they remain as red and dry as a barren desert. "Maybe I was, once," she whispers, smoothing her hand across her stomach.

_Good_, he thinks. Her suffering will block any further signs of false sympathy. "Ah, the little one's father, is it? He abandon you as well?" he bites out.

She shakes her head, absently playing with a string looped several times on her wrist. "Not as simple as that."

He chuckles humorlessly, still feeling bitter that she brought up Milah. "Aye, sure. Some good reason to leave you both behind, I suppose?" he sneers out sarcastically.

She winces, brings her knees up and her face twists with pain. He feels prideful that he's hit the nail on the head, but then she speaks. "Death's a pretty good reason," she says softly with a lowered head.

He looks at her, feeling every ounce of anger leave him. She is trying hard to curl herself into a fetal position though the fetus doesn't allow for it. She looks broken, shattered in the most familiar places. The heat drains from him, and he feels deflated. "Aye," he responds gently. "I'd say so."

She swipes at her eye. "How did you lose her?" she asks, a desperate attempt to change the subject if he's heard any.

His mood darkens again temporarily, but he figures he owes her after being so callous. "She and 'Stiltskin were married, but she chose me. He found her, years later, and tore her heart from her chest and crushed it to dust in front of my eyes."

There's a quick inhale of breath that makes him turn to her. A sharp sobs escapes her, much to his surprise. Her eyes are even redder and a hand is pressed firmly to her lips. "Sorry," she finally says. Then she drops her face into her hands and she sobs again, shoulder shaking furiously as she tries to hold it all back.

This is not what he expected. Maybe he _did_ read her wrong. He really doesn't know what to do with a blubbering woman. "Hey, lass, it was nearly sixty years ago –"

"No, it's not that," she says, angrily wiping her face. Her hands return to hold her stomach. She stares at it for a moment as she regains her strength, caressing the area carefully and he can actually see the babe kick out in response. "Graham, he … the May— … the Queen had his heart," she inhales deeply, trying to get a handle on the outpour of emotion. "When he left her, she …," she trails off, unable to finish, tears dripping down her face in thin silvery trails in the firelight.

Killian didn't think his heart had the capability to wrench from anything but his own miseries. This kindred spirit … he didn't know there were people like this out there. "I am sorry, Emma."

She looks up at her name and gives a broken smile. "I'm sorry, too, Killian."

He will help her. He has new reason to, now. He will get his revenge, sure, but that is inevitable. He will also get her back to the child she loves so she might have a bit of happiness like he will.

* * *

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note**: The first routine Thursday post has arrived! I'm kind of excited and anxious about it. I hope I can keep up with my prewriting. This chapter contains dialogue and spoilers from 2x05. I am writing this chronologically in terms of episodes, but this takes place slightly before the events in FTL seen in chapter 10.

FYI: I had some readers be a little confused last chapter. Please, if anything is confusing or you have questions about something, do message me! I'm always around to talk! I won't give spoilers, but I may drop some hints.

Guest Comments

**BossLady**: Welcome back! *hugs* Thanks so much! I'm glad you're enjoying Killian thus far.

**Abigail**: Aw, thank you! You're so sweet!

**Kimberly**: Please don't be shy! I'm nice, I swear! Lol. Yeah, I may have cajoled a couple readers into writing more Gremma, but they still like me (don't they?). Thank you so much for your awesome review! With these two-a-weeks, the reunion will be coming a bit sooner than it would have!

* * *

The night before had gone similarly to the previous night and the night before that. No one got much sleep. However, Graham and David would pass each other by during the night with simple nods, checking on Henry. The wolf alternates between following Graham and acting as Henry's sentry. Neither man is completely sure that Regina will keep her word.

He ended up petrifying them both out by sharply screaming in the middle of the night due to a nightmare he could barely remember.

This is how Henry had weaseled his way into joining them at the Sheriff's office.

Henry is tired and David could tell by his entire posture to his droopy face. He leans up against Graham's legs and absently plays on a laptop, having chosen against a chair. Graham is working through some paperwork in an effort to make connections between fairytale counterparts and the motives behind the crimes and continuously rubs his temples against a headache. David is doing the same with a different stack, mostly in Emma's handwriting, and manning the phones which have been ringing off and on since that morning.

The door opens with a clatter and Dr. Whale peeks his head in. "Sheriff."

David's blood boils at the sight of him, but he controls it in front of his grandson. "_Acting_ sheriff," he reminds.

Whale narrows his eyes on him. "I was speaking to the _actual_ sheriff."

David resists snarling but Graham simply stands. His expression is neutral as his hands fall to his side. "I believe the town elected a new sheriff in my absence. I am only helping out," he states, arms moving to cross over his body. He looks more natural now, in his standard uniform of button-up, vest, and trousers. He looks like he never left, sans the badge that neither of them are willing to touch while Emma is missing.

Whale shakes his head. He is out of his scrubs and in civilian clothing and David wants to smash his fist into his face. "Whatever. I need to know if it's true that the other world exists. I've heard you've been looking for a portal," he states.

David and Graham share a look. David replies, "I'm not here to keep the truth from anyone. It's true, we've been looking. Regina has told me herself that our world exists."

Whale seems to muse over that a moment. "Does this mean all the other worlds exist?"

Graham frowns. David remembers mention of a couple other lands, though he has never seen one. Jefferson had obviously been transported from Wonderland. "It's possible," he finally replies, uncertain.

Whale nods almost absently. Then, his eyes narrow and he turns to Graham again. "And exactly how is it possible that you are alive, sheriff? I had you on my slab. You were dead. I performed your autopsy myself." His words are slightly more curious than accusatory but both emotions are there.

Graham stiffens. Henry is staring from his place on the floor, staying quiet as to hear more of what is going on with wide eyes. "Henry, go into the office. We'll get you in a minute," David says softly. Henry looks stricken with guilt then scrambles his way in.

"Well?" he asks once the boy is inside.

He tries to focus on the fact that this man is a doctor who has been helping his subjects these almost twenty-nine years and even cared for him while he was in his coma. However, the fact that he slept with his wife is still in the forefront of his mind. "You have no right asking, Whale," David spits, hands itching to bash his smug face in.

Whale's eyes light up with a certain madness. "I thought you were content not to have secrets from your people, King James."

Graham sighs and loosens his tie. "Why do you believe it is some great secret? I know I was dead. I have the scars to prove it." He pulls the neck of his shirt down slightly and David can see the whitened mark of a line along the outside of his clavicle.

Whale's eyes follow the scar with a vague sort of awe. "I've never seen a Y-shaped incisional scar, Sheriff," he says evenly. His eyes then center on David. "How was it done?"

David's jaw sets. "It happened after the curse broke," he replies. He is careful not to say that he doesn't know and careful not to give false hope. He hopes the ploy works.

Whale exhales in frustration. "This man's very existence goes against everything I know of science and magic!"

David lets a smile stretch over his face. "Then you must not know very much about magic."

At that, the doctor angrily leaves, slamming the door behind him.

Graham falls back into his seat with a sigh. "I'll bet that won't be the last we'll hear of this," he comments dryly.

David looks at him. "Didn't know you had scars from it, Graham."

Graham looks up in surprise. "Oh, I," he pauses, looking at it. "I just noticed them yesterday morning. If nothing else, Victor has a steady hand."

David shudders slightly. It is unnerving to have these reminders that the man was dead and buried not too long ago. "I'll get Henry." He walks to the back and opens the office door and Henry darts out.

"You have a scar? Can I see?" he asks excitedly. Graham's eyes widen.

"You could hear from in there?" he asks incredulously.

Henry rolls his eyes. "I'm eleven, not stupid. I left the door open," he replies.

Graham sighs. "Because you didn't understand why David sent you there in the first place?" he asks sardonically.

Henry's smile is sheepish. "Well …."

David shakes his head. "Really, Henry?"

Henry looks away and then back to Graham. "Can I see it?" he asks again, softer this time.

Graham huffs and pulls back his collar slightly.

"Wow," Henry murmurs as he stares at it curiously. His fingers reach out and then jerk back. "Sorry."

Graham shakes his head. "No problem. It doesn't even really feel like anything. It's barely raised," he states, brushing his own fingers along the mark.

Henry reaches out and pokes it with one finger and shudders comically. "You really were dead, weren't you?"

Graham quirks an eyebrow. "It wasn't obvious before?"

Henry gives a half-smile. "Well, seeing you in a coffin and going to the funeral and everything was one thing. Seeing you walking around with _that_ is kinda cool," he pronounces.

Graham chuckles. "Fine, then. Do you want to finish that game on your computer while we work?"

The rest of the morning drifts by easily as they fall back into their previous duties. By the afternoon, they all look worse for the wear.

"Break?" Henry asks, the computer long since pushed away out of boredom as he aimlessly spins in one of the chairs.

David cracks his knuckles and rises to stretch out his back. Graham simply leans back and smiles. "You have an idea?"

Henry smiles shyly and shoots a glance to the back of the room. "Darts?"

David knows he shouldn't be feeling left out, but part of him feels like this should have been his chance to bond with Henry. Instead, Henry gravitates more and more to Graham. It makes sense, objectively. The boy has known Graham his entire life; David woke from a coma less than a year ago and didn't really understand their connection until a few days ago. Still, it is those feelings of inadequacy that makes him burst out, "how about going to the stables?"

Graham and Henry both turn to him in surprise. "The stables?" Henry asks.

David smiles. "Well, you're technically royalty. You should learn about horses, shouldn't you?" he asks tentatively.

Graham nudges him. "The little prince should learn to become a knight," he says with laughing eyes.

Henry is absolutely beaming. "Yeah. Yeah! That sounds awesome, grandpa!"

"Good," David sighs in relief. He knows that they can't be gone very long since the town still needs a great deal of assistance, but it will be a nice rest period.

They all head off together, and to David' joy Henry grabs his hand. It doesn't hurt as much when he reaches back to grab Graham's as well. The stables are within walking distance, but at Graham's uncomfortable grimace when he sees the town bustling, David suggests they take the cruiser.

Henry's face when they reach the stables is absolutely worth it. His eyes are alight with awe, mouth fallen open in a 'o' of wonder, hands limply by his side as he sees the light colored beast whinny.

"Is he a gallant enough steed, my grandson?" David asks teasingly.

He shoots a look to him in shock. "He can be mine?" he asked.

David smiles and he hears Graham chuckle underneath his breath. "Yes, Henry. Because every knight, every _hero_ needs his steed."

"Whoa," he breathes, approaching the creature. A hand hesitantly rises and he strokes his side. The horse huffs, but otherwise remains still. David lets a smile stretch over his face because he knows that he will be excellent for a first-time rider. Henry turns to him. "Do I get to ride him, now?"

David shakes his head. "Not today. You'll have a lot to learn before you get in the saddle. I'll teach you how to muck the stalls each morning and then you'll do the same after school"

Henry's face screws up. "That's like babysitting."

"Or horse-sitting," Graham murmurs with a grin.

David shoots him a look but only clucks his tongue. "I know it seems like just messy work, but really it helps you create a bond with your horse. An _essential_ bond. Then, by the time you ride, you'll both be in tune with each other."

Henry's hand lightly traces the items in the stable. Graham leans against a post. "You certainly know a lot for a royal," Graham chuckles.

Henry looks up from the brush he was studying. "He was a shepherd before he was a prince, Graham. He lived on a farm and worked with lots of animals. I'm going to need to show you the book later," he says seriously.

Graham's eyebrows disappear beneath brown curls and he nods. "Maybe tonight, Henry. Unless we actually get some sleep."

They work together to muck the stalls, even if both Henry and Graham are amateurs at it. He's not so sure about the others but the physical labor is working out every nerve that had begun quivering during their time in the office. It is tiring, but it is also fulfilling. His mind has the chance to wander for the first time in what feels like weeks, hopscotching from crucial events to the more mundane. He hopes their time away will give him an idea on how to rescue their three women.

He keeps catching glimpses of Graham and idly wonders what his granddaughter will look like.

After some time, Graham's radio begins emitting static from his hip. "Oh, thank God, actual work," he cries in a mock seriousness, brushing the sweat from his forehead. He picks up the device and holds it up. "This is the Sheriff's office, how can I help?"

Distant and crackling, they hear a voice. "There's been an attack on Dr. Whale at the hospital. Send help."

"We'll be there soon." Graham meets his eyes. "Doesn't sound good," he states, chancing a look over at Henry.

David sighs. "Henry, are you okay to finish up here?" he asks. He pops his head up from where he is sweeping.

Graham shakes his head. "I don't like this, David. We shouldn't leave him alone. One of us should stay behind."

David chances a look back at Henry. "But if this is something more serious, we're going to need back up."

Henry brushes back his hair with his forearm. "I'm not alone. Jaq's out front. I promise I'll go straight home after I'm done. Besides, isn't this what you were trying to teach me, grandpa? How to be self-reliant?"

David closes his eyes, knowing just how expertly his grandson is at twisting words. Is this an innate trait or something he learned from living with Regina all these years? "Fine," he bites out. "Graham and I will handle this incident. Henry, listen to me: you will go straight home after you're done. No stopping, no detours, _straight_ _home_."

Henry nods. "I promise!"

Graham's lips are pressed in a firm line and he knows the huntsman isn't loving this. Finally, he reaches to his hip and pulls out his nightstick. "Just in case."

Henry takes it with glee. "I'll take care of it, I swear!"

They leave for the hospital and Graham is silent. His eyes flick from him to the road. "I'm sure it will be a quick assignment."

Graham looks up. "Sure. Or Regina could have let loose on Whale." David has nothing to say for that.

They enter the hospital, fully prepared for the worst. They feel like it's about to come true when they see Regina in the waiting room. Graham tenses beside him. She looks up and scoffs when she sees them.

"Storybrooke's finest coming late to the party?" she sneers.

David's eyes narrow. "We heard there was an incident with Dr. Whale. Why am I not surprised to find you in the middle of it?"

Her lips purse. "I did nothing. I came to speak with him about something he did and found him like that, with his arm ripped from his body. It's the truth."

David shakes his head. "What did he do?"

Regina presses her lips together and something flashes behind her dark eyes, something that looks akin to pain. "It's someone I used to know. Someone from my past. I –, his name was Daniel. I believe Whale tried to raise him from the dead."

David lets a breath out in a whoosh. "Your boyfriend. The one you were supposed to marry. The one … Snow said it was her fault he died."

Her eyes raise and meet his with scorn. "Yes, it was," she says coolly.

"He _tried_ to raise him from the dead?" he asks next.

She glances at Graham. "He practices something deeper than magic. After _he_ came back, he thought he'd be able to do it without complications. He stole one of my hearts to bring him back."

That hits something in Graham. "Which one?" he demands.

Regina looks away and shakes her head. "I don't know. I took so many … it's hard to keep track of. I didn't exactly keep labels on each one."

He can hear the snap of Graham's teeth as his jaw tenses, feels the anger seeping off of him. "Where is he, Regina? He's dangerous and he'll need to be contained."

She shakes her head. "No. No, he's not dangerous. Not to me."

Graham is tired of this and all but growls, "He's a threat to anyone he meets. Tell us where he went, Regina, or we are throwing you in jail."

Her eye twitches. "He'd go where he remembers. Like David did. Like _you_ apparently did."

"Where?" David insists.

Regina shrugs. "The stables."

Graham and David share a look of panic. "Henry's at the stables," Graham forces out and all three run out the door.

David is the first into the stall and he jerks back when he sees a man with a blank stare, his hands wrapping around Henry's throat. He makes a running tackle and brings them both down, Graham quickly sweeping in to pull Henry out of danger. Regina looks dumbfounded.

She steps forward. "Daniel …," she sighs. David recognizes the lovelorn look in her eye and it's almost painful to see as they fill with overwhelmed tears. "You're really here."

He yanks her away as the man lunges for her and slams the door shut. He begins banging on it mercilessly. "Regina, do you have some sort of spell? This won't keep him out forever."

She shakes her head, her eyes wild. "No, I won't use magic on him!" she cries.

He grabs for his gun. "Regina, he almost killed Henry!"

She shakes her head. "No! He wouldn't have done it! He's just confused! _Don't you dare hurt him_!"

"Regina, he's a monster! He's violent! If you won't put him down, I will!"

She slams him back with a wave of her hand. "No," she snarls. "Let me try first. I can get through to him." Despite the action, she doesn't look like the Evil Queen at this moment. She looks like a sad little girl who has everything to lose. She spares him a glance. "Get Henry out of here. I'll take care of him."

She turns, steeling herself. She looks back one more time. "Well, go."

Finally, he decides to take her advice. Graham and Henry are in the cruiser, engine running. He sighs in relief, thankful the other man has the sense to have a quick getaway ready. He gets in and jerks his head forward. "Let's go. Regina has this one."

Graham grabs the clutch and puts it in drive, his body a hard line in leftover fear and anger. "We aren't leaving him alone again," is his short, flat statement.

David glances back at Henry, noting the bruises forming on his neck and the paleness of his face. He looks numb. "Never again," he echoes.

"I lost the nightstick," Henry says hollowly from the backseat.

Graham glances in the rearview mirror and David can see how sad his eyes are. "Don't worry about that, Henry. We didn't lose you. That's the important thing."

Not for the first time, David is thankful to have Graham by his side.

The jealousy is worth it if they are both able to care for his grandson properly.

* * *

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note**: Thank you all so much, as always! You support during these trying canon times is completely what I need! This chapter is a … sort of new POV. There are spoilers and some dialogue from 2x06 and 2x07.

Gust Comments:

**BossLady**: Thank you so much! Yes, the boys' dynamic is still shifting into its comfortable positions. The introduction of Neal … well, at least they have some time before that occurs.

**Abigail**: The unintentional misspell makes me smile, lol! Thank you so much!

Lurkers, I still love you, too!

* * *

Emma looks up at the massive green thing sticking out the earth and has the urge to start laughing hysterically. All she can think of is something along the lines of "green giant" and a half-remembered episode of an old cartoon short. She rests her palms on her knees and rocks back on her heels, feeling the shift in gravity as she adjusts for her new center.

"Tell me that's not a beanstalk," she finally blurts out, eyes studying the spiral of green and vine and thorns drifting up into a foreboding cloud of grey.

Killian throws a mischievous look at her. "Ah, love, of course it is. And what we're searching for is at the top."

"It reminds me of death," Mulan says morbidly, hand automatically reaching for the hilt of her sword.

"Encouraging," Mary Margaret mutters sarcastically and shifts closer to her.

"There's the giant up top to deal with. The last of them," Hook says as he circles the edge of the overgrown weed.

"The one that hates all the realms and eats humans for breakfast, right?" she sighs with a troubled shake of her head.

Mulan throws back her shoulders. "Majesties, I am up for the challenge. I will scale this with no issue," she says dutifully.

Aurora looks thoughtful, fiddling with a bracelet on her wrist almost absently. "Are we all to climb it? I mean, we should, if we wish to remain safe," she murmurs as she studies it.

Hook shakes his head. "I think the pregnant woman would have a bit of an issue with it, as it were. Besides, I only have protection for two." His eyebrows wriggle. "Which of you lovely lasses wishes to join me? Go on. Fight it out. Don't be afraid to _really_ get into it."

"That's enough, Hook. We'll decide among ourselves," Emma scoffs, hoping to knock his ego down a notch or two. She turns to the three others, feeling not for the first time that her belly is a major hindrance in this outing. Mary's eyes are fixed on it as well.

"You need to safe, Emma. We'll need someone to guard you down here," Mary says and Mulan nods quickly.

Emma scowls. "Hey, have I not proven myself? I can deal with all this land's got."

Mary looks impatient and pins her with a look that makes her feel about five years old. "Emma, you have only gotten a taste of this world's dangers. You are only four weeks from your due date now. We need to stop arguing and get back to Henry and David."

Emma huffs, feeling her ire wane. She is, in fact, rolling closer to term as they wander through the forest and Henry has been alone with David. She watches something pass over Mary's face, a sort of short sorrow that is mixed with an avid determination. She forgets, sometimes, that she is fighting to get back to something, too. "Okay," she concedes, if for nothing more than to end the arguments.

"With all due respect, I'm the best equipped to go. How many wars have you fought through?" Mulan asserts.

Mary looks up coolly. "Enough."

Aurora swallows and steps forward with her chin raised. "It should be me."

All three stare at her blankly a moment. "No," Emma pushes first.

Mulan shakes her head. "You? You have never been in battle," she cries dubiously. Though she has been loyal to Aurora, the warrior does have the tendency to act like the girl is more of a hindrance, a delicate flower, than a part of the team.

Mary Margaret shakes her head. "This is about us getting home to our loved ones. Why would you –"

Aurora's lips tighten. "Don't you see? I don't have anyone waiting for me. If I fail, you all can go on."

Emma doesn't think she's fully respected the girl until now. As silly as the notion remains, it is noble and selfless. The tight line of her mouth raises a little in deference to her offer. "It's appreciated, princess, but we'll need someone with a little more oomph to go after a bloodthirsty giant."

Mary grabs the satchel from Mulan's waist. "It'll be me. I have the knowledge, the experience, and the drive to get this done." She turns and meets Emma's eye head-on. "We will get home to David and Henry. I promise you this, Emma. We will get home and be a family."

Emma feels that panicky thing climbing up her spine but she smiles stiffly. The baby shifts and turns, as if reaching for her technical-grandmother. Emma brings her hands down to her bump and smooths them on top. "Mary, be careful."

Mary smiles, tears glistening in her eyes. She presses her palms between her hands to rest on her stomach. "Take care of her, Emma. I never want you to know the loss I've felt."

Emma feels cold wash over her at the suggestion. It seems an out-of-place statement, unusually saturnine and pessimistic of Mary Margaret. She shivers, wishing away the words. "With everything in me."

Mary nods, lips pressing together and dimples forming as she grabs her head and smooths a kiss to her brow. "I know you're not ready to hear it … but I love you, Emma."

Emma shakes her head, stepping away from the embrace as she finally realizes what she's doing. "Don't act like this is goodbye, Mary Margaret. Don't you _dare_. Come back. I _will_ see you soon."

Mary chuckles softly and squeezes her shoulders. "Of course. See you soon, Emma." She turns and drags Mulan over to talk, and Killian grins from his spot near the beanstalk, casually leaning against it.

He approaches her since she is separated from the group. "There are many dangers in this land, love. Wouldn't want the whelp to be exposed to them," he murmurs. His good hand circles her wrist and she fights the urge to yank it back. The reaction should have come because he was a sketchy pirate with questionable alliances. Instead, it is because the hand placement and gentle action is familiar, and has only been done before by one other person. For a second, she sees him in Hook's place and she shudders the vision off. He brings her hand to eye level and pulls a small pouch from his pocket and empties onto her palm. Her body shimmers and then the light glow fades.

"The hell was that?" she asks, pulling back from the pirate.

His gaze is steady on her and she feels unnerved by it. "For protection," he offers. "It blocks others from sensing your magic. Your magic is a bloody fog light in this land."

She grimaces, rubbing her wrist against her leggings. "Thanks, I guess."

Mary approaches them with narrowed eyes and his grin becomes predatory. "I had hoped it would be you," he purrs.

Her eyebrow rises. "Why do I believe you would have said that to any of us?"

Hook throws back his head and laughs. "Smart girl. Now, arm up here." He places the cuff on Mary's wrist, hands lingering on her skin and idly brushing across the limb. Mary looks furious to Hook's open amusement. "Now, off we go, love, once my hand is returned to me."

Mary rummages through the satchel and pulls out the hook. "Don't even think about using that against us, Hook."

"Why of course not!" he replies with guileless grin. "Up we go."

Emma watches them, eyes hard, until they are out of sight.

Mulan's mouth sets in a grimace and Emma finds herself wondering if the woman has every smiled in her life. "I am going to secure the area. Please, stay here so I may be aware of your whereabouts," she says stiffly, heading towards the woods at the edges of the clearing.

Emma turns cautiously to Aurora. "It'll be all right," she says, certainty lacking in the words.

Aurora studies her, big eyes wide. Finally, she nods. "I have no doubt in the ruler of the Southern Castle."

Emma grimaces. "So, is there a ruler for each pole or something?"

The girl's face twists into bewilderment. "You do not know?" At the shake of her head, the girl smiles. "There are many rulers of these lands. The Southern, Northern, Eastern, and Western castles are large divisions. But there is also the ruler of the Grand Isles, of the Lesser Isles, of the Great Mountain, of the Desert Plains. I haven't even touched upon the forest divisions!" Aurora exclaims.

"Well, that makes sense then that you wouldn't know her," Emma muses.

Aurora nods. "These lands are vast."

"So, your mother was the queen of … what?" she asks curiously.

Aurora shakes her head with a laugh like a bell. It kind of kills her how princess-like the laugh is. "She was only a mere queen _here_. My father brought her from another land after it vanished, but she never quite fit in with the people here. She was never fully accepted, though my father loved her so. They say that is why Maleficent cursed her. She cursed me because it would cause her more pain." She seems thoughtful, perhaps thinking about her kingdom. "Here, she was Queen of the Sands. There, she was the Empress of an entire world."

Emma is taken aback by the wistfulness on the princess' features. She can tell that she misses her mother desperately. She swallows, wondering if she is taking Mary Margaret's presence for granted. "Is she still here?" she ventures.

Aurora shakes her head. "No, Mulan told me that she died during my sleeping curse. Died never knowing if I would wake. Away from the only other person who loved her, since my father is in your world." She sniffs back tears. "From what I've heard since I've awakened, most of our monarchs are banished to that other world." She hesitates. "Tell me about it?"

Emma blinks at the sudden change in subject. "About my world?" she asks.

Aurora nods, a smile gracing her youthful features. "I hear that there are no happy endings and yet it seems as though you have one to reach once you get there."

She laughs lightly. "My son is definitely my happy ending." She sits on an overturned log and plays with a thread on her tank top, thinking about how best to explain it. "It's just not so black-and-white, I guess. No magic to get us out of situations typically. Things that are good are mixed with the bad."

Aurora sits next to her. "Like with your true love?"

Emma looks up sharply. "What?"

Her smile is more of a wince. "I heard you talking with Hook last night. The father … he passed on?"

Emma shudders at the thought. She thought all her memories had been put to bed the night before but she's found that they resurface just as easily. She can still see his face and the flecks of brown in his blue eyes mixing with reverence and love, feel the scruff of his beard and the ropes of his muscles under her palms, feel the weight and softness of his kiss. "You heard us?"

Aurora has the decency to look sheepish. "I did not mean to eavesdrop. I merely had a nightmare that kept me wakeful. You two were in such deep conversation that I didn't wish to bother you."

Emma bites her lip. "Yes, he died. He died a long time ago, it feels like."

Aurora's brow has creased in sympathy, or perhaps empathy. "It seems like years and years ago and yet also this very moment, all at the same time, doesn't it?"

She raises her eyes to meet the girl's soft ones. She nearly forgot the reason that Mary Margaret had almost been killed. The childlike princess and she did have many things in common, after all. "Yes. Like eons ago and yesterday."

"Sharp clarity and fogged haze, both."

Emma sighs, brushing a hand over where her daughter lay. "Yeah, the real world is like that. He died so brutally_, _so …," she pauses, swallowing hard as she searches for the right word,_ "senselessly_. And yet, I still have her."

Aurora brings her hands together, barely touching. "I wish … I wish I had something so tangible of my Phillip."

Emma shakes her head, eager to fix the mistake she is making in her reasoning. "It doesn't replace him." She bites her lip and huddles into herself as her daughter gently shifts inside her. "As much as I love her, as much as I would do _anything_ for her and am _so glad_ she's mine … it doesn't replace him."

Aurora frowns, auburn curls falling into her porcelain face. "Yes, I could see how that could be."

Her lips press together. She recognizes the heartache in this quintessential princess and that is perhaps why she is willing to share. "You really love him, don't you?" Emma asks.

Aurora nods, tears filling her gem-like eyes. "Yes. We've known each other since we were children. We were always close; our first kiss was when we were five years old. It was the kind of love that is so pure, rings true. We fought so hard to keep it and yet …," she sighs. "This is all I have left," she murmurs, holding her arm up, the one with a delicate silver bracelet. Emma automatically reaches for the lace tied around her wrist, feeling a kinship with the girl. Aurora shakes her head. "You know what it is like. You had your true love."

Emma falters a little again at the label. She has always been hesitant to put a name on what she and Graham had. True love just seems so definite, so quixotic and optimistic, so unlike her. "I was in love with him," she finally offers, as truthfully as she can. What they had building in the months before and peaking in those last few moments was unquestionably love.

A smile plays along the princess' lips. "I am sure yours was a love of the ages," she says, pausing and reaching out to lay a hand on Emma's comfortingly. "Was he excited to know he was to become a daddy?" she asks.

Emma feels a stone climb up from her stomach to settle in her throat. Oh, God, how would he have reacted to know she was pregnant? She has never tried to picture it before; sometimes she would wonder in her dreams but they were always forcibly shoved away from her conscious thoughts. It hurts so much that she cannot imagine how it would have been, to have brought that little stick to him and seen the meaning dawn on his features.

"He never knew. I was all of five minutes pregnant when he died," she bites out finally, closing her eyes against the sepulchral poeticism of his life extinguishing in favor of their daughter's.

Aurora gasps. "Oh, I am sorry." She fumbles for a response. "I am sure he would have loved to have that knowledge, that your love created something more."

_More_. Emma suddenly remembers something Gold said about her, about being the product of true love. She feels fear prickle within her for the first time, _palpable_ fear for her child. She's abruptly thankful that Killian dropped that magical voodoo on her. Finally, she reacts to Aurora's statement. "I think … I think he would have been happy."

She is no naïve little girl. She knows how harsh reality can be; one glance to her past can show at least seven instances without really trying. She's never allowed herself to be a romantic. But she remembers the look on Graham's face as he cradled hers, the tear that dripped down his cheek and the _love_ in his eyes. If she is this happy about her pregnancy now, she cannot truly imagine Graham being otherwise.

Finally, she can picture a scenario, of hope and wonder in his gaze, cupping her face like he did that night, softly sealing their lips together as he murmurs how happy he is. The image fades almost as quickly as she makes it, the pain ripping back into her afresh.

"At least you had your son to raise together," Aurora cuts in, picking up on her distress.

Emma grimaces. The poor girl keeps trying to backpedal but shoves herself further into this mess. "But Henry wasn't his. Henry … I had him when I was younger, with a man I thought was good but ended up being a" _asshole, dickhead, prick _"really awful person, actually."

Her eyes widen. "You gave birth to another man's child?" she asks incredulously.

Emma bites her lip, trying not to laugh at the look on the girl's face. "In our world, it happens a lot. People have children all the time, with people they're not in love with."

Aurora actually physically shudders at the thought. "My, this world is awful."

Emma turns and smiles so the woman won't see her amusement at their worldview. "But if it weren't for that, I wouldn't have Henry. And Henry … he's a really great kid."

Aurora gives a wobbly smile back. "Then, I suppose I am happy for that."

"Princesses," Mulan calls as she walks back into the clearing. "I believe we should get some rest. There is no telling how long they will take in their pursuit."

Aurora nods and Emma gives a smile back. The stars are beginning to show overhead, evening upon them. She hopes Mary Margaret will be back before sunrise.

She drifts off to sleep to the images Aurora unknowingly created. She is now plagued with things that can never be: Graham laying behind her with his head resting in the crook of her neck, fingers splayed over her belly, warm breath laughing into her ear in delight whenever their daughter moves beneath his palm. His lovely voice stringing together name ideas as he rests his head near the bump, eyes twinkling in delight. His lips caressing her middle, his beard prickling the sensitive skin pleasingly, before edging up to press a slow, firm kiss to her lips.

And the worst and best, most painful image of all, of him with their daughter in his arms, rocking her to sleep with gentle awe crossing his features. That image remains, burning into her brain and clawing to the surface. She finds herself wishing it is real with a passion so intense that she surprises herself. She should really know better than to have her heart ache with wishes that cannot be made reality.

She comes out of sleep in a daze, hearing screams of terror. She pops up, scanning the area until her gaze rests of Aurora, thrashing in her sleep. Mulan is running back to the clearing, sword drawn.

Aurora suddenly bolts up, her eyes wild. "Hey, you okay?" Emma asks, cautiously making her way towards her.

Aurora nods and looks up at Mulan and Emma, offering tiny smiles. "Nightmares, ever since I woke. This one … this one was different. There was a boy." Then she's looking at Emma with total clarity in her eyes, realization of what she's seen. "He said he would help me. He said his name is Henry."

Emma gasps, backing away slightly. "Henry?" she asks, her voice cracking.

Aurora nods, but they are interrupted when Mary Margaret shimmies down the beanstalk, falling sideways on the ground with a groan.

"Mary!" she cries, running toward her.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she says, and then holds out a hand that is grasping a compass. "We have it. Let's get going."

"Hook?" Aurora asks.

Mary shakes her head. "We've got a head start. Ten hours before he's free. I don't trust him enough for any less."

Emma feels a sharp pang, worrying at the betrayal. Hook is a kindred spirit and that alone may have made him useful to their side. She shakes it off, knowing that if Mary thought it was the right thing to do, then it likely was. "We have new information. We have to hurry."

* * *

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note**: I hope you've semi-recovered from the news pouring out this week with both CS and Jamie. Remember, I'm always around to talk about these things here and on tumblr! Anyway, today's update contains spoilers and some dialogue from 2x07 and 2x08. As a head's up, the next few chapters will also be from 2x08.

Guest Comments

**BossLady**: Thank you! It kinda killed me _writing_ those scenes. I think the writers should just bring him back as well!

**Guest**: LMAO, anon! No, dear. Hook loves to flirt but we all know Snow won't be having it. He's gonna be awful mad at her, anyway. And Snowing is too perfect to not be endgame!

**Abigail**: Love you!

**Solace**: Welcome! Thank you so much! I always worry about some of the characterizations, so I am really glad you're enjoying them!

Lurker love!

* * *

They have settled nicely into something vaguely resembling a routine. David and he take turns running the Sheriff's Office. The other cares for Henry during the day. They go out for breakfast on the weekends and try to make other meals at home.

He still gets strange looks from the customers at Granny's and he tries his best to ignore them. It's been an interesting transition as far as the townsfolk. Most ignored him as much as they possibly could while still staring when they thought he wasn't looking.

Things were becoming a little unnatural and stilted throughout the town, so they finally decided they needed to celebrate the end of the curse a little. Granny's hosted an early dinner and get together for all that wished to participate. Graham was a little uneasy at the request, but chose to come when Henry had begun begging.

Thanking God for small favors, at least Victor isn't among the patronage. The looks the man gives him works on his nerves. He studies him as if he is a medical mystery he is dying to dissect.

The atmosphere is much more relaxed after the first hour. The group is fed and a little buzzed, the chatter in the room alight with happiness and optimism. It is comfortable, for once, to talk with Archie and Granny, laughing as he nurses his beer.

They start to leave at around seven since they've decided to not let Henry be around when the celebrations became more inebriated. As they are getting Henry from talking with Grace and Hansel, they notice that Ruby is on edge. They are collecting their things when she grabs his sleeve. "Graham," she starts, her eyes a little wild. "Is it true, what Snow told me? About how you grew up?"

Graham forces down the urge to cringe. He can see Henry looking up from under his arm. "That he grew up with wolves? It's in my book, wanna see?" Henry exclaims.

Ruby smiles tightly, her forehead wrinkling as she tries to contain her emotions. "Maybe some other time, Henry."

Graham sighs. The fact hadn't exactly made him popular among humans before. He's worried that this is what will make the townspeople break in their tolerance for him. "Yes, it's true. Why do you ask, Ruby?"

She looks away and when she meets his eyes again they are shining with unshed tears. "Were they actual wolves? Or were they something else?"

Graham's brow creases slightly in confusion. Something else? "No, they were real wolves. What's the problem, Ruby?"

Ruby sighs, her fingers tangling in her dark tresses. "You know what? It's fine. I'll figure it out. Don't worry about it," she says stiffly and walks out of the dining area toward the back rooms.

Graham looks back at David with confusion. "She has the wolf gene. I think tonight's a full moon," he explains.

Graham's heard of such people before. The wolves he grew up with were from a completely different part of the forest than the hybrids from the Southern kingdom. For that reason, his pack would have never accepted one into their family, though they were aware they existed.

"Do we need to worry?" he asks finally. He isn't keen to follow the rumors that villagers stirred up, but he recalls a few tales of slaughter regarding their kind. Ruby doesn't seem the type, but it doesn't hurt to ask.

David shakes his head. "No. Ruby's had a handle on her change since I've known her."

"Oh, really?" a voice calls from down the counter. They turn and see an older man, his mouth twisted with disdain. His hair is silver and thinning, but his eyes are sharp. "I've heard that the beast is quite dangerous."

Graham studies this new man. He thinks he may remember him from around town. But the voice is what is more familiar; he remembers it echoing around the Evil Queen's throne room more than once. He is instantly on edge.

"She is a person, George, and I will not stand for anyone that calls her differently," David snarls back. "What are you doing here?"

Henry ducks under his arm almost automatically, carefully eyeing the older man. Graham adjusts his stance to pull him close and slightly behind.

George shakes his head. "Is this how you're running my kingdom, shepherd? While my _real_ son turns in his grave? I should have found someone more suitable," he retorts. Then his lips twist. "You may have taken care of me in the old world, but here we get another go at each other."

David's fists clench and unclench. "Whenever you're ready," he replies coolly.

Graham shifts closer to David in unspoken support. George's eyes flick over him in a way that seems dismissively. Like if he were a threat, he's not worried. "A big moment for you, isn't it? So close to getting your family back."

David grins. "Must be a hard moment for _you_, watching good win."

George's eyes narrow. "I should have known that your choices would be weak. You let peasants, a dog, and an _insect_ on your war council. You let the animal roam the streets," he rattles off. David's breathing is very controlled beside him. Finally George throws up his hands in disgust "And now just look at your family! Look at how diluted you are making the bloodlines! You have a daughter with nobility running through her veins and you let her choose a wild mongrel who lives in the woods as a partner."

Graham stiffens at the insult, teeth clicking together. He decides not to speak up, feeling the tensions rise between the two men. His hand hovers at his hip but he doesn't reach for the weapon there. To his surprise, it's Henry that comes to his defense, "you're just jealous because you've never known true love and everyone in this family is getting it!"

George looks down at the boy with a sneer. "And so the bastard speaks up."

Graham sees red but his first reaction is to pull Henry out of sight.

David is more active and lunges to grab the man by the collar. "You dare call my grandson by such a slur again, I will finish what I started at the end of the war. You are not half a man and you have no right speaking against any person in my family or my kingdom. You are not worth the words to insult you."

David nods to Graham and he quickly grabs their things and Henry's hand.

George's eyes are full of fire. "Peasants! Peasants acting as royalty! These people will see you for who you really are. By the time I'm done with you, you'll wish you'd killed me when you had the chance," he shouts as they leave the restaurant.

David's eyes are hard but glossy, turning to look at Graham and then Henry once they are outside. "Don't listen to him, Henry. He's a sad, angry old man with nothing left."

Henry nods. "I know. I've read the book, remember?"

Graham hugs the boy to his side, looking down at him fondly. "We don't give you nearly enough credit for all that you do and have to put up with, Henry," he says softly.

Henry grins. "Thanks."

They split up then, David going to Gold's to get something to help Henry's increasingly worrying nightmares. Graham heads for the apartment as Henry leans heavily on him. Along the way, his brother returns from the woods and trots alongside them protectively and Henry grabs onto the fur on the back of his neck. When they enter, the sky is grey, twilight upon them. The walkie talkie is still attached to his hip as he removes everything else. They've decided it's the best way to keep the sheriff department going while Henry needs supervision. The hospital has always had one but now Granny's, Archie, Leroy, and Blue all have a handset so they can cover most of the town. After the incidents with George and Ruby, he has a feeling he will need it soon.

The front rooms are still untidy from leaving for the party, so Graham cajoles Henry into helping him straighten up. He still feels strange living in Mary Margaret's apartment, so he tries to keep things meticulous when he can.

David comes in as they are washing dishes and Graham turns to him expectantly. He pulls a chain out of his pocket. "It's a charm. You wear it at night and then you control the dream. When you have control, it should no longer cause any fear."

Henry takes it gingerly into his hands. He studies it. "Whoa. I'll be able to control my dreams?" he asks.

David smiles. "You'll be able to go when you want, as long as you want, or even stay away for as long as you want. It'll keep you protected."

"Awesome," Henry decides, pulling it over his head. "I'll be able to sleep for real."

After the rest of the evening disappears, they settle to their separate rooms to sleep, hoping that this time it will be restful for all. His brother automatically saunters after Henry, resting on his bed comfortably. Graham smiles, thinking it interesting that the wolf knows who to protect.

Graham wakes when the sky is still grey, foggy ideas of the dreams he had drifting away from him. He thinks he remembers a small weight cradled in his arms, feelings of peace and serenity. He shakes it off, trying to discern what had woken him.

"It didn't work, I think," David says as he exits his room, pulling a hand through his short hair.

Graham remembers. It was another cry, just the same as the ones these last couple weeks. He rubs his eyes. "We need to ask Gold for a refund. Want me to go?"

David shakes his head. "Can you just grab a glass of water for him?"

Graham nods and rises. He doesn't get a lot of sleep, anyway. He feels like he needs it, but the knowledge of his death weights on him. He doesn't like the idea that he might miss something while he is away. He also has a deep-seated fear that he won't wake. He needs to be alive long enough to rescue Emma.

They aren't sure how or why he is alive. David and he spoke about it a couple times. They speculate on Emma and the curse breaking, but they never are able to pinpoint an actual reason. It's because of this that Graham worries. He can tell Henry does, too. Sometimes the boy stares at him like he will disappear at any moment.

"No, it worked, I swear! But there was a lady this time. She was scared and she was talking to me," he hears Henry murmur into his grandfather's chest. His brother is curled next to him, trying to give him the comfort he needs, head laying on top of Henry's legs. He hands the glass of water.

Graham searches over Henry's pale, weak form. He has gotten the least rest of all of them, since when he sleeps he dreams and his soul is active. "Someone there? Are you sure?" he asks.

David nods with a sigh. "Maybe it was just the dream expanding," he murmurs into the boy's hair. "We need to talk to Gold about this. We can't have him having nightmares every single night."

Henry looks up. "I'm sorry," he says in a small voice.

Graham immediately shakes his head and he can see David do the same out of the corner of his eye. He grasps his shoulders and looks him in the eye. "This has not been, and never will be, your fault, Henry."

"Don't ever believe that you are a burden," David adds.

Henry's gaze is focused on the bed sheets, but he nods and takes the glass from the nightstand to gulp down some water.

"What time is it?" Henry asks, rubbing his eyes from sleep.

Graham glances at the clock. "You made it to five this time."

Henry sighs. "I tried to talk to her. I think she's real, I swear."

David and Graham share a look. Finally David nods slowly. "It's possible. Snow had the same dreams after her curse," David mutters.

Graham sighs and sits on the edge of the bed. "Do you want to try again?" he asks.

Henry nods, his eyes bright and clear. "Maybe if I find out what she needs, it'll all be okay."

It takes a while for Henry to drift back to sleep, but the two men watch him uneasily.

"I don't like this," Graham states.

David purses his lips. "For the record, I'm not crazy about it either."

They sit in tense silence for what seems like hours. Finally, Henry shoots up in bed, startling his brother into alertness with a sharp bark.

"They're alive! They're alive!" He cries, his eyes filling with tears and a smile stretching across his face. Graham feels his body fill with relief even if he had always believed it.

"I told you, kid! What did I tell you!" David cries happily, hugging the boy.

He's about to question it some more when the walkie talkie crackles from the nightstand. He grabs it, "Sheriff's office."

"Graham? It's Archie. We found an abandoned truck this morning double parked in front of the cannery. It's a little suspicious and we were wondering if you could check it out?"

Graham sighs, his lashes flicking on his cheeks. They were getting so close to a breakthrough. "Yes, that will be fine, Archie."

David is already pulling on his jacket. "I'll get this one," he says.

Graham's eyes narrow. "Are you sure? I can handle it."

David shakes his head. "I really need to take this one, Graham, but thanks. I'm this kingdom's ruler and it's about time I prove it."

Graham nods, finally understanding that George's words had weighed heavily on the other man. He finds himself wishing that he had been able to experience living under David's rule in their world.

David shrugs on his jacket and gestures to the phone. "After that, I'll be at the station. Any updates and I'll call you. Don't use the walkies for our communications unless it's an emergency. I really don't want the entire town know our business."

"That's fine," he answers. David leaves, shutting the door softly behind him.

"Henry," Graham starts, turning back to the boy whose eyes are still filled with excitement. "How do you know they're alive for sure?"

"It's the woman! She says her name is Aurora. She says mom and grandma have found a way to get home, but there's someone in their way."

"Who?" Graham asks.

Henry swallows. "Regina's mom. In the book, she's really, _really_ evil. She was the reason that mom turned super evil."

"Do they know how to get around this woman, Henry?" he asks.

He shakes his head. "They're not sure. She's really powerful. They think Mr. Gold will know a way to deal with her." He hesitates. "My mom might, too."

Graham studies him carefully. "Are you sure you want to ask her?"

Henry is silent. He plays almost absently with his brother's fur. Finally, he shrugs. "Don't know. I'm really mad at her."

Graham's really mad at her, too, but that's beside the point. If Regina could help save Emma and Snow, it would be worth it. "We'll see if Gold knows anything first, all right?"

He nods. "Okay. Are we sure he will help?"

Graham frowns and pulls a hand through his hair. "Let's hope he will. If not, we have our backup plan, right?"

Henry's gaze meets the closet where the hat is currently hidden in. "Right."

"They'll find the fairy dust. If they can't come home on their own, we'll go and get them. We'll fight Regina's mother and bring them home," he insists.

Henry finally smiles. "Okay. Yeah. If they can't find us, we'll find them."

"Apparently, that's the family motto," Graham murmurs as he rises. "Toast?"

They eat a light meal and work on some things in the house for a time. Finally, Henry flops down on the couch, his face still pale with exhaustion.

"So, when does school start again?" he asks. "Because all the kids are going to start aging again and I might get to actually learn something different each week."

"Well, they're still expanding the summer break for now." Graham chuckles. "You are not an ordinary kid, are you? Asking about returning to school when you've been through a sleeping curse and …," how should he put it? "Some pretty big changes?" he asks.

Henry shrugs. "I dunno. I guess … I guess it'd just be something normal."

Graham sits in the chair beside him and nods. "Normal would be nice, wouldn't it?"

Henry bobs his head in agreement. "I mean, I like being right about it all, I really like being a prince, helping fight evil and work against bad magic and all that. It's just, some days I miss just reading or building a diorama or even doing a math problem."

Graham places a hand on top of his head fondly. "I can't say that I want the same exact thing. But it would be nice to start somewhere small." He grins, a plan forming. "You want to practice darts?"

Henry lights up and he knows he chose the right thing. "Yeah!"

They set up a dartboard in the dining room. Graham has thought ahead, bringing it in from the station after Henry had seemed so keen on it before the stable incident. For about an hour, he teaches Henry how to position his arm and body to hit the target. He suddenly remembers doing this before, from before the curse was lifted. At least now Regina can't spoil their fun. Graham finds that Henry picks up on his teachings quickly, though his aim could still be improved. Every few throws, the boy will turn back to him and beg him to throw one of the darts without looking. He does so with a smile, keeping his eyes locked on Henry's as he lets the red projectile cut through the air and land softly on the bull's eye with a swish. Henry grins and will attempt the same, usually hitting the floor or the post but dissolving into giggles each time. Graham's just happy that the shadows in his eyes are fading.

After, Graham struggles his way through making lunch. He'd been able to do so during the curse with varied success, so it should've been simple. It's just that in the forest it was all very standard: hunt, skin, cook, eat. Now, there are directions to follow, tablespoons and cups, burners set to medium-high, microwaves that spark with metal. Some days, the Huntsman's memories outshine the Sheriff's and he has to mentally push through the barriers to remember how to cook Mac and Cheese with a side of steamed vegetables. He grumbles and swears under his breath through most of the preparation, much to Henry's amusement.

"Were you always this bad at cooking?" Henry asks bluntly as he pulls out the pack of vegetables before they get overdone.

Graham tries to frown at him but it comes out as a laugh instead. "Not always. I think doing something so close to archery pulled up that side, so now I'm trying to be modern again."

Henry leans his head to rest on his fists. "Is it always like that? Do you forget one of you sometimes?"

Graham shakes his head. "I never forget. I'm always both personalities. It's just sometimes with rote things like this, I trip up for a moment," he replies, passing over a bowl of noodles.

Henry cocks his head to the side, thinking about it. "That's cool." He pauses to eat a spoonful. "It's edible. Thanks."

"Only edible? I'll have to work on that," he says with a grin. He hopes this afternoon counts as normal. For Graham, it's been the most cheerful of times since he woke in the woods. Henry is a part of Emma, so he would love him anyway. But he also has his own personality, his own way of doing things, and his own way of expressing himself that Graham finds himself appreciating more and more.

Henry pauses in eating, looking at Graham with an unreadable emotion. "You know, you're really good at this. You cook mac and cheese but you don't forget to make me eat my vegetables. You explain things to me and you don't talk down to me like some people. You bring me water when I wake up at night and always protect me when we're around the bad guys. You always try to make me feel better … and you don't have to do that." He pauses and gives a smile that is an echo of Emma's. "You'll make a great dad," he ventures.

Graham feels a heat rush to his face. He's a little dumbstruck by the sudden compliment. "Thank you, Henry, but I don't know about all that."

He nods firmly. "I do."

The phone rings sharply in interruption and Graham jogs over to answer it. "David?"

"Graham. We are in the middle of a major crisis. Please keep Henry there and safe. The man that worked the tow truck, Billy, was found murdered. People think Red did it, but I know she didn't. It looks too much like a frame job."

Graham sighs and closes his eyes shut. "This is a delicate situation, David. People are already willing to believe the worst."

He can hear David breathing on the line as he considers this. "I know," he finally replies. "I found Red, but she doesn't remember anything from last night. Just keep Henry safe and let me know if you hear anything."

"I will. And David? Keep an eye out. You still have a lot of enemies," Graham warned.

"Noted. I'll call back in a couple hours, whether or not I've heard anything."

Henry's looking at him with big eyes when the phone clicks back into place. "Mom's not hurting people again, is she?" he asks worriedly.

"No, Henry. It's not her," Graham answers comfortingly. Whenever Regina is mentioned, Graham has to force himself to speak diplomatically. There is a part of him that rages at her, demands justice for all the things she put him through over the years. But he understands that that woman is not the person Henry sees. He is determined that Henry won't see her like that. The kid deserves a reprieve.

The next few hours are tense. He has gotten Henry to watch a movie, but the air around them hangs in heavy anticipation. Graham can't concentrate on the plot and finds that he stares into space more often than not. Henry passes out with his legs in his lap, the necklace protectively clutched in his small fingers.

David comes home around nine. His eyes are bloodshot. Graham straightens and turns off the TV.

"What happened?" Graham asks.

To his surprise, David's eyes fill with tears and he drops his face into his hands. Graham shifts Henry's legs off him and rises uncomfortably.

"Did she do it?" he finally voices.

David shakes his head violently. "No. It was George. That bastard killed him in order to get the town running against me. But Graham …," he trails off, not even bothering to remove the tears on his face.

"What?" he asks softly.

He turns dejected eyes on him. "The hat. He stole the hat."

Graham immediately looks toward Henry's room, where Jefferson's hat should be carefully hidden. "What? How?" he cried.

David shook his head. "I don't know! Somehow he was able to get it. He destroyed it, Graham! Our only way to Emma and Snow, and he _destroyed_ it!" he sobbed in increasingly panicked tones.

Graham's eyes shut painfully. They then pop open and dart to Henry. His mouth sets in a firm line. "Not our only way. Henry is a conduit. We need Gold's help again, but we _will_ get them back."

David looks at him with cautious optimism. "What?"

"His nightmares, the woman. She's in contact with Emma and Snow and they can get home on their own as long as we can get them some advice," he explains in a truncated style. Then his eyes narrow on him. "I don't want you to ever get this worked up again. There will _always_ be a way. If we have to go through Regina, her mother, Gold, and half the bloody planet to get them back, we will. I don't _ever_ want to see that look in your eyes again."

David looks away, guilt flooding his features as he notes the weakness of faith he displayed. "You're right," he chokes out. "It's true love. There will always be a way."

* * *

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note**: Okay, so still dealing with the fallout from last night (not the CS, the other thing). Recovering slowly and hope you all are, too! Today's chapter contains dialogue and spoilers from 2x08.

Guest Comments

**BossLady**: Henry's going to have a lot to deal with once Snow and Emma come back, but Graham was his only father figure for a long time, and now he's getting that even more with only him and his grandfather to be with him. I am so glad that the events are making you smile. And please, you are not being repetitive! Your reviews are awesome!

**Abigail**: Thank you so much! Snow and Emma have a couple more things to get to before they get home.

Thank you to everyone that favorited, set alerts, and to the lurkers!

* * *

Regina paces inside her home, the pain enveloping her once more as she waits on the clock.

It has only been a couple weeks since she's had to use magic to kill her love once and for all, to dissolve Daniel into dust after he had begged for the mercy of death. Since he had lashed out at everyone he had come in contact with but looked at her with love and pain and misery.

It wasn't fair. Whale, Frankenstein, whatever he wishes to be called now, had tried to do what she could never have done, what somehow Emma Swan was able to do without even knowing, and failed. Daniel hadn't been magically alive again, waiting to kiss her and whisk her off into a magical happy ending. He hadn't been like Graham, himself again and ready to face the world. Daniel instead had been in agony, had been a monster because of it. Her heart broke all over again, in a way she hadn't thought possible. She feels shattered, the cracks filling both with renewed anger and terrified retreat.

The cricket has been unusually understanding in this matter. He was listening to her, helping her, guiding her on her path to stay away from magic. To get her Henry back.

The timer dings and she pulls the cake from the oven, its chocolate aroma filling the expansive kitchen. She had taken to baking more in a blatant attempt at sublimation. Something about the precise measuring and heating reminds her of the old world, of brewing potions and brandishing magic. It was soothing set out mis en place or to roll out dough or see the thick tempered chocolate cloaking a pastry.

She would then meticulously divide, package, and freeze the items in question. Henry will have a welcome homecoming.

She is just placing the cake on the cooling rack when the door chimes. Her brow furrows since Dr. Hopper won't be coming for a few hours yet, and she turns and walks down the foyer, her heels clicking on the polished marble floor. Another perk of her inability to cope: her house has never been so spotless.

She frowns deeply at the sight of the man with the cane once the door swings open. "You. I thought we had decided against seeing each other after you tried to kill me."

He grins. "Only after you locked up my Belle for over twenty-eight years," he replies, the cane tapping as he enters the house. "But you see, there is reason for my stop today."

"There always is," she replies bitterly, closing the door with a clang. "What possible reason could it be this time? Did I curse another of your housemaids?" she asks tartly.

He chuckles, a far cry from his laughs in the old world. "Not something to do with what you've done this time, my dear. This time it is something you _can_ do."

Regina lets her posture straighten. Propriety has been hammered into her since the day she was born, by her parents of nobility. However, she is averse to bringing the man to the living room, since she does not wish him to stay. If they linger in the foyer, maybe he will get the hint. "Oh? You think I will do something for you?"

"While it does benefit me, I doubt you would refuse my request," he says, his words as always a puzzle.

Regina lets herself scan through his words. "It would benefit Henry," she deduces, feeling a certain dread well up within her.

"Always knew you were a bright one, dearie. Now, are you willing to hear the problem?" A part of her feels this is a ploy to get her to be civil to him. She feels the concession come with great disdain.

She gestures, bringing him to one of the cream leather seats in the living room. "What is this issue that concerns Henry?" she asks, glowering as she settles on the cushion.

Rumple sits with flourish, spreading himself across the chair so that he dwarfs it. His dark eyes glint with challenge. "They've found a way to communicate with the Netherworld after your little trick on Henry."

Regina feels the blood drain from her face, the guilt rising up within her. The girl was supposed to eat that tart, not Henry, not _her son_. "He needs a way out?" she asks, thinking about different things she has laying around that she could charm to give him.

The man shakes his head. "Not something so simple, I'm afraid. He's already able to navigate his dreams, which led to him talking with someone from our other world."

Regina's eyes snap up. "Snow White?"

He shakes his head. "Another. One your friend cursed. But she is with the others, and they've hit a snag in getting home."

"A snag?" she asks flatly, an eyebrow rising. "You've come to me because Snow White might not be able to return? Woe is me. What ever will I do?"

Instead of sneering, Rumplestiltskin actually smiles. "I think this is the one time that you will help Snow White."

"And why, pray tell, is that?"

"Well, you've already told Henry you'd do anything in your power to help get his brand new sister home," he says.

Regina huffs. "I know what I promised." She would protect the offspring of the criminal princess and her former pet if she had to. She breathes through her anger, reminding herself to be more diplomatic. She amends her thoughts to note that she will protect this new person that Henry loves.

His lips finally fall into the slightest frown before quirking back up. "And this is also about preventing an enemy I know you want destroyed from crossing into this world."

Regina racks her brain, trying to think of an enemy she hates or fears so much as to actively help Snow White. "And who might that be?"

His eyes turn cold in an instant. "Cora."

Her blood turns to ice, fear dripping into her like a melting icicle. "That's impossible. I had her killed. I saw her body myself." Her breath hitches. The pirate had handed her body to her on a silver platter, dammit! She was dead!

"Apparently, I taught her well. She's not, and she's on her way. And I don't think I need to remind you how most unpleasant that would be for both of us," he hisses.

Regina knows, all right. She thought she could put that monster behind her, that terror that killed her Daniel. All that she has been feeling the past weeks bubbles to the surface, the magic twitching within her. She no longer cares if she is abstinent from magic. She will keep her mother away from Henry, whatever the cost.

"What do we need to do?"

'Stiltskin rubs his palms together, leaning forward. "I have a plan to put into motion. Henry will tell them to find the ink that imprisoned me. However, it would be nice to gain some insight into Cora's more intimate weaknesses."

Regina looks away. The thought of Henry going into a nightmare world she can't even imagine is worrying. However, it would give the idiots an advantage if they have the knowledge. "I can help with that. Where should we convene?"

He smirks slightly. "You are aware that Henry will be accompanied by two men that want your head, aren't you? There will be no separating him from them," he warns.

She knows this is a trick, a test to see how far she is willing to go with this. The thought of working with them brings bitter and angry emotions to the surface. It used to just be with Charming: the idiot who was so foolishly head-over-heels in love with her sworn enemy. He was, and is, bad enough. Now, having to deal with a Graham with free will after he rose from the dead _for_ Snow White's daughter … it's almost too much to bear. "I will do whatever it takes," she finally answers.

His look is approving. "Let's get on with it, then, shall we?"

He rises and doesn't look to see if she's following. She does, of course, and perhaps it is that which infuriates her most. She is still at the whim of Rumplestiltskin, at his heels in desperation, whether she wants to be or not.

They are on semi-neutral ground, she realizes, as they enter Gold's shop. When they walk to the back, Henry's arm is being held gingerly by Graham as the two men inspect it.

"Problems, dearie?"

Three sets of eyes meet her and her posture straightens automatically. She is the queen and she will not be intimidated. Anger is carefully hidden behind neutrality in one blue-brown gaze, outright hatred in the prince's, but what breaks her heart is the fear in Henry's.

"Henry, are you okay?" she asks softly.

He looks over to the two other men and then finally nods. "I think I might have been in there too long."

"He wasn't able to get the message in, 'Stiltskin," David says.

Graham sighs and wraps Henry's arm with a bandage. "He has burns. I thought you said he'd be able to control the dreams with the pendant?" he accuses.

"Burns?" Regina questions coming forward and brushing back Henry's hair. He flinches and her heart cracks. "You will not let my son go back in there if he is in any danger," she finally insists.

Expecting protests, she is surprised to see Graham nod. "I agree," he says softly, finishing the last twist of the bandage.

David sighs. "There has got to be another way."

Rumplestiltskin shakes his head and walks over to Henry's side. "No need to tend to wounds," he says, waving his hand over his arm. The dressing falls to the side and the burn has disappeared.

"That's pretty cool," Henry pronounces. "Aurora was there, but she left so suddenly."

"What caused this?" Regina grits out. She brushes away mention of the Sands princess. Maleficent will be furious when she hears that she is awake but that is a problem for another day.

"When you venture deeper into the Netherworld instead of away, there are risks. Someone must've woke Aurora before her soul was ready to return. The violence of that act tore her away and injured Henry. We're lucky it wasn't worse. He's going to need some time to recover before he can be sent back."

"If you can heal me that easy, I should go back now," he muses.

"No," comes the sharp retort of four adults at once.

"Out of the question. We are not sending my son back ever again," Regina continues.

David nods in agreement. "Not a chance in Hell. We'd be monsters if we let him go back into that world."

"Careful with your tone, Charming. I understand your concern for the boy, but I know Cora. Without our help, Snow and Emma will soon be dead. And then … a true monster will be on her way to Storybrooke," Rumplestiltskin replies.

"It would be risking your life and we can't do that, no matter the cost," Graham says, ignoring the imp and directing the statement to Henry himself.

Henry's eyes are wide and tearful. "We have to get them, Graham. We can't leave them alone in that world."

Graham smiles, grabbing his hand. "We will find another way, Henry. We will get them back," he replies and levels his gaze on Rumplestiltskin in unspoken challenge.

Regina will admit, Graham is better with her son than she would have imagined. However, instead of soothing her, it stirs up worry, anger, and jealousy. He is _her_ son. She has fought for so long to make it so. She is not willing to lose it so easily.

"Aurora is gone. We don't have a way to communicate any longer. We can't get a message to them," she spits out.

David shakes his head, a smile crossing his face. "No, there will be someone there!"

'Stiltskin's gaze is knowing. "Snow White, I presume?"

"Well, that's an awfully big presumption," she retorts.

He shakes his head, meeting eyes with Graham. "No, it's not. She's been there before, she'll find a way to get there again. She will, I know it. And I will be there waiting for her," David says, a sickening light filling his eyes. Graham stands, hands falling to his hips.

Regina scoffs. "You? How are you going to be there?"

"Tell me you're not thinking of what I think you are, David," Graham murmurs.

David grins. "I am. I'm going to need a sleeping curse."

"_You're_ going to this netherworld?" she scoffs in disdain.

His smile turns smug. "I've faced you; how bad could it be?"

"Grandpa …," Henry sighs, sitting up in bed.

"If we do, there is a chance you might never wake up," Rumplestiltskin advises.

Graham walks up to him. "If anyone should go, it should be me. You need to be able to help them if I don't wake up."

He shakes his head violently. "Snow will wake me," he claims impassionedly. "We'll meet there, we'll kiss, and everything will be fine." He turns, looking as stupidly brave as she's ever seen him. "Now, put me under. I've spent too much time searching for my wife as it is. It's time to bring them home."

Stupid is right. But Regina will let it happen, a plan forming so organically it is almost pitiful she didn't think of it before. If he is gone, then she only has to get rid of Graham before Henry falls back into her arms.

"I can brew the potion," Regina declares, a smile dancing on her features that she can't begin to hide.

Graham's look is distrustful, but David nods. "That's fine. You have some experience in it," he decides.

"Mom," Henry says seriously, and she snaps her head up to look at him. He looks wary but also sure of himself. "Don't go overboard."

She feels something uncoil within her and she nods. "I'll use Maleficent's curse," she decides, knowing it would be less severe than the apple one that almost took Henry's life. She won't kill David, not this time.

"I have the supplies," Rumplestiltskin offers, gesturing towards the front of the shop. She takes the wordless suggestion and goes, walking behind the counter purposefully.

This is where she excels. Potion-making. Her cooking might be top-notch, but her potions are even better. A silent thrill leaps within her as the chemicals combine.

"It smells," Henry pronounces as he walks into the room.

Regina's eyes flicker up and take in his appearance. He is pale, exhausted. Have those men been taking care of him in the slightest? "It's a curse, honey, it's supposed to. It's not meant to be pleasant," she replies soothingly.

"So," he draws out. "Is it finished?"

She stares as it changes colors, as it pools into a viscous liquid. "Yes. We're almost ready."

She can feel his stare as she moves around the shop, feel the questions rolling in his mind. "This is how you do magic?" he asks finally.

She pauses. "There are many ways. It is never easy."

He wrings his hands. "And … and have you been using magic?"

"Oh," she breathes, kneeling beside him, finally understanding his worries. "No, Henry. I told you I wouldn't, and I haven't. Just with Daniel … and now. I really have been trying for you." It is so easy to weave these words. They are true, hiding the malice she feels as the potion coagulates into the demise of a King and the solution to a problem.

He bobs his head. "Okay. At least you're using it to help people now," he says.

She nods, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm trying," she repeats. "I won't after this." A boldfaced lie, but Henry doesn't need to know this. Once he is hers, she _will_ stop for good.

"I know," he responds. "Will my grandpa be okay?"

Her stomach sours as the term of relation rolls off his tongue. She stands. "He'll be asleep," she says slowly, truthfully. "He won't die in there. Gold's explaining everything to him now."

He looks dejected. "It should be me. I can go in there without another curse and still come back. I was supposed to be a hero."

Regina shakes her head, her eyes filling with tears. Her son should not be feeling this way. He is _her_ hero, her son to love and cherish in a happy ending of her own making. "Henry, there's a lot of things that David, Graham, and I disagree on. This is not one of them. We won't let you risk your life. It's not worth it."

"My sister is worth it," he replies sullenly. A flash of anger coats her but she brushes it off.

"And she will come back when your grandfather tells your grandmother exactly what we have to tell them. Because there is one thing I know about your grandparents; they always find each other," she replies. She is not sure how she is able to keep the bitterness out of her tone, but somehow her love for Henry prevails. This is one promise she is okay with breaking.

He smiles a tiny smile, but it is enough for her. "I can't wait to see them, so we could be a family," he says softly.

She doesn't let a frown betray what the statement does to her. He is _her_ family. Would that change if Emma and Snow and the child came? She feels resolve set. She can remedy this. She will just have to play it right. "Now, let's get going, shall we? I need a spinning wheel."

* * *

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note**: Happy Halloween! Once again, this chapter contains spoilers and dialogue from 2x08.

Guest Comments

**BossLady**: I am so glad you are seeing the characters develop! I am trying to make their actions seem natural, so I really excited that you can see it! Regina is definitely more desperate this time around; she sees Graham's continued existence as a personal attack. Her actions will be different because of it.

**Angel**: Thank you so much for your enthusiasm! I appreciate your support!

**Abigail**: Thank you! Regina's love for Henry is really clouded by her revenge, but I love trying to get into her character (even if it makes me nervous).

* * *

Snow sits with her head in her hands, willing away the fears of returning to the netherworld as Mulan searches for the poppy. Her head burns and she wishes the tears would come to wash away the feelings of inadequacy. She is a Queen and she has numerous people counting on her, including her family. She had gone up against certain death and come back twice as strong. The burning room, though, isn't something she had conquered. It is something she had avoided, run from. Perhaps that's why her nerves are winding through her body to collect in her throat and behind her eyes.

She hears a sharp sniff and rises hastily. She darts through the bushes and finds Emma, her eyes bright, next to one of the zombies that she had managed to kill. She recalls the sight of her pregnant daughter protectively swinging the sword and connecting hard with the corpse, moving on to the next threat before the body even dropped to the ground. If there is one thing Emma is not, it is weak.

"Emma?" she asks, puzzlement coloring her words.

Her head snaps up and she meets her gaze. "Oh, Mary Margaret. Sorry, I didn't know you were out here." She pauses and looks away, her brow furrowing as she tries to hold back her emotions. They change slightly and she looks at her. "I'm sorry about you having to go back."

Snow shakes her head almost violently, even though she feels the tears rush forward again. "It's fine. I'm prepared for it. After this, we'll be able to make it back and everything will be okay," she says hollowly. Her confidence is shaken and has been even since she took the trip up the beanstalk with Hook. What a disaster.

He had done nothing to make himself untrustworthy. Not really. He had a reputation to be sure, one she was acutely aware of as they climbed, but he had never come forward with violence at any time. But there was something about him that made Snow uneasy. He was able to rip through her comfortable, though admittedly flimsy, veneer and stripped her down to her barest insecurities. He did so with pride and ego, delighting whenever she tried to hide further. He called to her most vulnerable areas, her greatest fears, with razor precision and most of them concerning Emma. His comments on Emma stirred her blood, his stabs towards their shaky relationship, his acerbic remarks on knowing her better even without knowing her half as long. There were many reasons she chained him in that place, but not the least of which was how nervous he made Emma look before they went up that beanstalk.

She is determined to get her confidence back before they return. She shakes her head. "That's not what you're upset about," she states.

Emma is silent. She looks down at the body again.

Snow hesitantly sits beside her and reaches for her hand. "He wasn't alive any longer, Emma. It was just an extension of Cora."

Emma's face twists into a mask of pain and she looks away again. "It wasn't his fault. He was under her influence. He didn't want to attack us, didn't really want to take Aurora or the compass away. He was being controlled."

Snow nods. "That's true," she says, leaving her voice light to invite the end of Emma's trail of thought.

There's a hitch in her breath and her eyes dart around, unwilling to focus on any one thing. "He was able to be controlled because Cora took his heart."

Snow swallows in understanding, feeling a rush of sympathy swell within her. "Oh, Emma," she says, tightening her grip on her hand.

Emma shakes her head. "It's stupid. He was going to kill us, I know that," she says in frustration, wiping the tears under her eyes.

Snow hesitates knowing that she needs to cut into the root of the issue instead of dancing around it like Emma is. She presses her lips together. "I don't think it was the same. I think Cora's magic works a little differently."

Emma grabs a rock and hurls it toward the woods. "How could you know?"

Snow's eyebrows rise as she considers it. "Well," she begins, gesturing to the body. It is bloody and scarred, rigid, bloated, and pale. Long since dead. "That man was quite obviously dead before and after he reanimated," she says logically. Then her hand moves to rest on top of Emma's belly as proof. "… _he_ was definitely alive."

She can hear Emma swallow, fingers twisting against the brown lace that seems to always be attached to her wrist. "But could she have done that to him? Controlled him?"

Snow winces, nails biting the inside of her palms. She remembers when she had privately asked Blue, before the curse and the pregnancy but after the retaking of the kingdom, about saving the Huntsman. She had vetoed the decision, basing her choice on the fact that no one knew where the Evil Queen kept her chamber of hearts. Without his heart, she would still be under her command. She remembers Blue's eyes burning as she said it, the memory of a demolished village fresh in her mind. "Yes," she finally answers. "He fought it as often as he could in our world. But yes. She could control him."

Emma gags and covers her mouth with the back of her hand. She tips forward and stumbles away, the contents of her stomach emptying along the tree line.

Snow rushes forward, petting back her soft hair. She hushes her, whispering nonsense words and rubbing circles on her lower back as she heaves again. She can feel all of Emma's muscles tense as her body violently reacts to the new knowledge. "It'll be okay, let it out, it'll be okay," she murmurs.

When Emma finally leans back, she grabs the water skin from her belt and offers it to her. Emma takes a few slow sips and Snow can see the tear tracks weaving through the dirt on her face in intricate patterns.

"I didn't believe him," she whispers, resting her head against Snow's chest. "He tried to tell me and I didn't believe him."

Snow begins to gently rock her back and forth, knowing that no words would help in this situation.

"I thought he was crazy. And then he _remembered_. He _told_ me he remembered and he thanked me and I _still_ never believed him and everyone keeps saying we were true love but how can that be when I didn't have enough faith in him?" she sobs, the words flowing fast and furious.

"Emma," she says softly, brushing her hands across her face when she didn't listen. "Emma," she repeats, a little more firmly. "_No one_ would have thought he was telling the truth. Everyone was telling him to sleep it off and to go home alone, but you, Emma, you actually listened to him. You tried to _help_ him. You _did_ help him."

"Not enough," she asserts dejectedly.

Snow frowns and pulls her back down into a hug. "He was finally out of Regina's power. You broke his curse. And Emma, you _know_ the only kind of power that can do that. He left knowing about both his lives. He left knowing that you loved each other."

"I got pregnant that night," she whispers, her head buried into her chest so deep that she barely hears the words escape.

Snow's heart twists. She had assumed so, based on the timelines and the way Emma had looked when she came home that night. Still, it's strange to hear her say it, to know absolutely that her grandchild was conceived moments before her father's death. She presses a firm kiss to the top of her head, hoping to express all the sympathy, sadness, love, and regret into it. "She was meant to be," she finally says.

Emma chokes out a sob, hands wrapping tighter around her. Snow wonders, for a second, if she is seeking comfort from the friend or the mother. Snow is giving back both.

"I feel like I'm forgetting him," she grinds out, her body shaking with emotion. "I can't remember the exact shade of his hair, I can't remember the specific way his accent curled over his words, I can't remember how he stood," she says mournfully.

Snow bites her lip, intimately knowing the feeling. When she had let David go for the first time, she remembers the aching slowness of forgetting the details of a person. And no matter how hard you tried to cling to the memories, the more they faded until you were left with impressions and feelings more than anything else. "When we get back, we'll find every last picture we can find of him. We'll find the tapes on answering machines, any video left over. We'll track down everyone who has memories of him and get their stories. We'll wake up your memories as best we can. We'll make sure she will know what her father was like."

Emma smiles in a way that doesn't quite meet her eyes. Another tear escapes and falls down her cheek.

Snow decides to steer the conversation away, just a bit. "You know, Mary Margaret was one of _those_ women."

Emma looks up in surprise, her tears slowing. "Huh?"

Snow smiles. "You know, the kind that dreams up weddings and baby names and pins their futures on internet boards. One of _those_ women."

Emma's gaze is steady but confused. "Okay," she drawls.

Snow brushes back a strand of Emma's hair. It is straightening out, making her wonder if she actually has all of Charming's hair instead of the meld between both as she first assumed. "Of course, it must've been slightly because part of me knew that I had had a grand, fancy wedding to David and that I had _you_ somewhere out there. I had researched all sorts of baby names and Emma was always at the top of every list."

Emma grimaces slightly; it seems she realizes where she's going with this. "I haven't exactly thought about that," she murmurs, cradling her belly in her arms.

Snow shakes her head. She hadn't been trying to make her feel like she was doing something wrong. "Naturally! I assumed you haven't. I mean, you've had a few other things on your mind. Names certainly wouldn't be at the top of my list." She chuckles slightly and shrugs. "But I already had a list going and added a couple when I knew you were pregnant. I mean, you _are_ getting closer to the time where you'll need to decide."

Emma shrugs a shoulder. "You're right. Got that list around anywhere?" she replies sourly.

If only Emma knew how giddy Snow is and Mary Margaret was about this little one. "You know, you wonder what qualities you want in your child. Emma means 'universal' and I thought that was such a wonderful idea for royalty. A sovereign that is one with the people, who would rule with them rather than against them."

She sees Emma freeze, the reminder of her title causing her to throw up a couple walls again. Snow knows she needs to fix it somehow.

She hesitates, wondering if it is actually her place even if she is Emma's mother. Finally, she decides to bite the bullet. "And I think … well, whenever I think of you two I think 'noble.' I think 'strong.'" She smiles and presses a hand to her belly and she gives a delighted grin when her granddaughter pushes out in acknowledgement. "Brianna."

Emma looks thoughtful. "Brianna?"

Snow's quick to amend her statement. "I mean, I don't presume to name your child or anything. And, there's always Sophie … that means 'wisdom,' or even Aimee, 'loved,'" she pauses, feeling like she's rambling.

The side of Emma's lip is quirking up, her eyes hazy. "Brianna."

Snow smiles timidly. "It's also of Irish origin. I know he wasn't, not really, but maybe …."

Emma gives a laugh that shifts slightly into a sob. "It's perfect." She curls into her again, a hug that is more in appreciation but for many reasons. "Thank you, mom."

Snow feels her throat close up, the endearment shocking and warming her soul. She knows she needs to be careful here. Emma is not one to do anything half-heartedly but also not one for throwing out every emotion all at once. She remembers how often she ran, even if it were only for a few hours, during times of emotional stress and knows she needs to tread lightly. "Well, I suppose getting some say is only fair. After all, I did have to find out that you were pregnant from the Mad Hatter," she jokes.

She groans. "God, I almost forgot about Jefferson," she says, her head shaking. When her eyes return, she looks apologetic. "Sorry about that."

"It's perfectly fine," she replies happily. Regarding Jefferson, she's madder at herself for not realizing her _roommate_ who she saw every day had gone nearly six months without her knowing a thing. _Maybe more with the child_, Jefferson had said, brushing an intrusive hand to let the flowy top frame her blossoming shape, and it was only then that she was able to see the way her belly swelled. Emma certainly had some skill at keeping inconspicuous. "I know now and I will do everything I can for our Brianna."

Emma sighs. "It feels more real somehow."

"Now that she has a name?" Snow asks.

Emma nods. She looks away again, to the horizon this time. "With Henry, I didn't get to do all that."

Snow grimaces. "I know. You did the best you could."

Emma nods sharply, but looks more unsure. "In the women's prison, it was easier to hide the bump. I mean, I was pretty small for the most part but the clothing was baggy," she starts. Snow could see that. Her frame is just so that she was able to hide it with some strategic pieces until she was in her seventh month with _this_ child. "My cellmate ended up being very protective over me. She had two children waiting for her, one my age, so she helped a lot."

Snow's surprised that she is opening up like this. She's never heard Emma talk about her time being pregnant with Henry, so she remains quiet as not to interrupt the thoughts that are tumbling out.

She laughs lightly. "The thing I remember the most is being so _furious_ at Neal. The entire time I was there, throughout the pregnancy, that was all I could think about."

"Neal was Henry's father?" Snow asks.

Emma rolls her eyes. "Yes, and the asshole that got me in prison in the first place."

Snow feels her own blood start to boil at the faceless man. Her hands unwittingly ball into fists, wishing nothing but harm on the person who hurt her daughter and ostensibly her grandson.

Emma is silent a moment. "How was I to know that Henry would turn out so … so unlike him? He's so good, so selfless. He's so innocent."

Snow grabs up her hand again. "He's an amazing kid."

She nods. "He is." She wipes her palms on her leggings and pulls an uncomfortable face. "I knew I couldn't put him in the foster system when he was born. I couldn't do that. I mean, I had a couple more months to stay so I _could_ have done it, technically, and gotten him later. But I know how it was and I had absolutely no prospects once I was out. I thought he would be able to be loved, protected, and safe if I gave him up. Instead he ends up with Regina," she says, spitting out the name.

"I think she loves him, in her own way," Snow murmurs.

Emma sighs. "She also made him think he was crazy. She also kept him away from everyone else. She also treats him like a damn possession," she presses. She blows out a frustrated breath. "I didn't want that for him."

"I know. But as soon as you saw it, you stayed for him," Snow counters.

Emma is stiff. "This time, I get all these quiet moments with her. In the beginning, I was freaked out but then … I don't know, it was just us. I know that I get to keep her and I know that I will get to raise her. I know … I know the man who gave me her didn't have a choice in leaving." She inhales, frowning. "What if I can't be a good enough mom? What if I'm not enough for her … for him?" she asks, her insecurities rising to the forefront.

Snow smiles, embracing her. "If that's your only worry, there is no worry. Henry loves you. Brianna will love you. And you will never _ever_ be alone again."

"It would be so much better …," she trails off, shaking her head.

"If he was here," Snow gently finishes. "It's okay to want that. But you'll have me. And David. And Red, Granny, Grumpy, and everyone else there beside you."

She smiles through her tears. "It'll be nice to know that I'll have that support," she says, the closest she will get to another thank you at this point. She pauses, pressing her lips together and holding onto her belly and there is that vulnerability that she is still cautious to show. "And … and we'll tell her about him, right?"

Snow nods, a sad smile stretching across her face. "Everything. She'll love him, too."

A twig snaps and they see Mulan gingerly approaching them, a bag in hand. Her dark eyes are apologetic at interrupting them, but the rest of her face is all business. "I have the poppy powder," she declares, raising the bag.

Snow nods firmly. She no longer fears the netherworld, not after being able to work through Emma's own fears and worries. "Let's do it then."

Mulan leads her to a hidden nook where there is already a sheet of fabric laid out for her. Snow positions on the sheet and leans back. Emma grabs her hand and she squeezes it in appreciation. "Come back soon. Say hi to Henry for me," she whispers.

Snow smiles and then nods to Mulan. The warrior reaches in and removes a handful of rust orange dust. "You will sleep for an hour, two at the most. This will have to be enough. I did not find any more."

Snow nods. "It should be fine. Thank you, Mulan."

The woman nods sharply and holds out the hand, blowing the dust on her face gently. Snow's eyes flutter, and before she knows it, she is back in the room.

Smoke clouds her vision and flames are dancing everywhere she can see. She takes a deep breath, choking out ash and fighting back the fear. "Henry!" she cries, searching for a figure beyond the flames.

"Snow?" she hears.

She turns, gasping as she sees David. "Charming?" she asks, the nickname falling easily from her lips. "But … I don't understand. Henry should be here."

He shakes his head, stepping closer. Love is reflected in his eyes and she leans forward automatically, heart swelling. "I couldn't let him come back here. It's too dangerous," he replies.

A tearful smile spreads across her face as she realizes. "You found me," she breathes, walking closer still to the hot flames.

David smiles brightly, taking another step. "No. This time, Snow, you found _me_," he replies, his eyes shimmering with emotion.

She looks at the barrier and her head falls to the side. "I don't know how much time we have here."

David nods, knowing they need to get down to business. "Gold. He says there's a way to stop Cora. We have to stun her like we did with him." He pauses and she can see him grimace. "Regina doesn't want her mother coming back. She's helping us for the time being as well. She's says Cora's greatest weakness is her lust for power and her ego in having it. Do whatever you can to keep Emma safe."

Snow thinks about it, knowing how much power her daughter born of true love has. _And maybe more with the child_. "The quill. That's how it was done with Rumplestiltskin."

David shakes his head. "It wasn't the quill, it was the ink. There's a jar of it in his cell where we kept him. Get it. Get it and stop her." He rests, staring at her as if she's the only thing in the world. "And come home."

She nods quickly, coming forward again as something dawns on her. "But … Charming, how are you here? There's no way for you to be here, unless …." She gasps, feeling the realization of what he must've done wash over her.

David smiles apologetically. "I had to see you. I couldn't have Henry here."

Snow's eyes close in desperation. Her romantic, reckless, loving, beautiful, _charming_ husband. "I love you."

David's eyes become mischievous. "And that's how we'll break my curse," he says and jumps over the flames. He lands in front of her and she laughs aloud.

"You are noble, my prince," she teases. Then she grins as she remembers. "I helped Emma pick a name for the baby."

"Yeah?" he asks, his eyes twinkling in excitement.

"Brianna," she finishes, beaming at him. "Our second grandchild. And now we know for sure that she'll be born surrounded by love."

David's eyes glaze briefly and she wonders where his mind is at. He shakes his head. "True love's kiss first," he grins, leaning forward.

Her arms open to welcome him, but as they get closer, they fall through and past each other. "No!" she cries as she looks around. "No, we're not really here!" She can feel herself start to fade as she is awakening. "No, no, no! I'm waking up! You'll be stuck here!"

David only smiles. "It's okay. You'll get back, and then you'll wake me as I woke you. You will always find me, and I will always find you."

Snow sobs, hiding her face. "Yes. Will we always lose each other, too? Is that our fate?"

David shakes his head, something coming from behind his features that makes his whole face light up. "No. No, I refuse to believe that. Especially once you see what is waiting when you three get back to Storybrooke."

Snow feels confusion but lets his faith wrap around her. "Okay. Okay, I'll have faith. I love you," she says.

He smiles. "I love you. I'll be waiting for you. And so wi—"

He is cut off as she wakes. She sighs heavily, feeling tears well up inside her.

"Hey, are you okay?" Emma asks cautiously.

Snow shakes her head and she blinks a couple times, getting used to the fresh air and daylight again. "We need to get back quick. David's in a sleeping curse."

Emma's eyes burn with fury. "Who the hell put him in a sleeping curse?"

Snow laughs ironically. "He put himself in one so Henry didn't have to go back. We have a way, now, though. We need to go back to the Palace, to the prisons. We need to get back so I can wake him up."

* * *

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note**: I apologize that this one is so short. It's a bit of a bridge chapter. It contains spoilers and some dialogue from 2x08 and 2x09.

Guest Comments

**Abigail**: Thank you so much! After last night's episode, I can't wait for the reunion, either!

**BossLady**: Thank you so much! Snow and Emma's relationship has always been interesting to me and I thought that Emma's pregnancy would be a nice catalyst for bringing them closer. Snow's guilt about Graham is not extinguished at all, and will be brought up again.

**Guest (x3!):** I assume you are one person, lol! Welcome! I hope you're enjoying everything!

**Angel**: Yeah, he almost did! They're trying to make their way home, I promise!

* * *

Killian twirls the bag from his hook, staring at it in confusion.

He had never been great at magic. He has only learned a few tricks in his travels and conserved their usage wisely. Now has never been a better time to use it, but his head is throbbing painfully at what the action has cost him.

He looks inside again. It is glowing with magic, as crimson as fury. As pure as the princess is, no signs of darkness or malice.

He perhaps understands why Cora, Regina, and Rumplestiltskin are so agreeable to this particular magic. Removing it had sent a thrill up inside him, a wash of absolute power. To stare at it is to see someone else's life pulsating in your hand. You know that you have absolute control over this person. You could decide how they move, how they speak, how they live, how they die. It is so strong, yet so breakable. It is heady, addictive.

The action has killed something inside of him, something that had always hoped he wouldn't stoop to the crocodile's level. The girl had been so fitful in sleep, so prideful and noble. When he had used the magic, she had thrashed in pain but remained asleep. A part of his soul is blackened, darker than it ever has been before. Yet, as Aurora's heart beats in the satchel, he knows that this will be the only way to get his revenge.

Cora walks in, searching the pit before studying his form with disdain.

"Looking for someone?" he sneers.

She looks around the cell once more. "So, you freed her. And you … stuck around? For what, your petty satisfaction in seeing me suffer?"

He smirks. "Oh, watching you suffer is a tempting motivation, love, but that wasn't it."

Cora smiles falsely, fury glinting in her gaze. "Well, then, you must have a death wish." She uses her power and his back crushes against the dirt wall. His breath pops out in a whoosh but he manages a chuckle.

"Now, darling, no need for theatrics," he says as the rock emerges from the wall and surrounds his arms.

She smiles, the anger and delight mixing. She yanks his hook free and traces it down his neck. The metal is cool and he feels shivers begin. She uses it to pull aside his coat, exposing his chest, exposing his _heart_. "You know I have to kill you," she murmurs, a point of regret in her voice.

He knows he has yet to drop his ace, but he still feels fear creep inside him. This is how Milah died, how Cora would kill him now if he lets her. She would rip his heart out of his chest, show it to him, and then her hand would collapse, and the delicate thing would turn to dust. His voice is surprisingly steady as he speaks. "You should try thanking me."

Cora's head pops up. "Oh, really? Why is that?" she questions in a purr.

"Because I've brought you a gift. One you'll really enjoy," he counters. "It's in the satchel."

She stares at him, the bottom of her eyes wrinkling as she considers him. He meets her gaze head-on, letting the fear drift away. "What is it?" she mutters through clenched teeth.

He grins. "Customarily, surprise is part of the fun of gift giving," he answers. He jerks his head toward it in open invitation. "Open it."

She still seems unsure, but tugs the strap of the satchel free with the hook. She narrows her eyes at him once more then peers into it. She sighs, lovingly. "Is that …?"

"Indeed, it is. And you can get anything you want with that," he says.

Her hand flicks up and he falls to the ground without her even looking up. "Whenever I underestimate you, pirate, you always seem to make up for it in spades."

He smirks, brushing himself off with flourish. "Only spades, my dear Queen of Hearts?"

She spares him a look of gratitude, eyes softening. "We'll see, Hook."

He leans over her shoulder, looking down at the organ and swallowing back the bitterness at seeing it again. "What shall we do here?"

She smiles. "Well, they will have to believe that you may be on their side, my dear Hook."

Hook lets a smile fall on his face even though on the inside he is cringing. No matter what her mother did to him, he will always be on Swan's side. She is too much like him, too much a fragile soul in a strong shell. She is quick-witted, smart, defiant, and able to perceive in shades of grey. It also unnerves him how much he cares about the child. She carries the offspring of her lost love, something he can only dream about.

He wonders how he might have changed if Milah had given him a child. Perhaps he would have forgone revenge in deference to his blood. Or perhaps he would have lost even more that cloudy autumn day and his bloodlust would have been greater. Perhaps he would have been too blind with rage and sought out the Crocodile before he was prepared. Perhaps he would have fought very bravely and died very quickly, miserable in his ineptitude.

He will give Emma the chance to raise that infant, so she might have some lingering happiness where he only has emptiness.

Snow White is a different story. Their whole trip up the beanstalk, she had been mostly silent as she glared at him periodically. She was a strong lass, to be sure, but one with irritatingly pure motivations and "good" intentions. She was all too easy to read, to bite into insecurities like an exposed wire. She is too wrapped up in the idea of right and wrong to care about anything he might have done for her side. She basically hated him on sight and didn't care to hide it. He hadn't been all too shocked when she had shackled him in the lair instead of continuing their pursuit together. He had felt betrayed, but not surprised.

"What will you have her do, then?" he asks finally.

She raises the heart to her lips, blowing on it slightly. "She's meeting up with them." Her eyes turn cold then close in glee.

He watches her as she whispers upon the heart, things he knows Aurora will be saying to the group. He is unnerved by it. To know that this could be done with a heart instead of simply crushing it into nothingness is frightening. While Milah's fate is still fresh, painful, and enraging … it could have been worse. He doesn't think he understood that until he met this lot of royalty.

Cora's eyes meet his suddenly, a knowing look passing over her face as she brings the heart closer to her lips. "I think … I think he may care for you," she says, her look pointed.

"Nice touch, that," he replies, pulling his lips back from his teeth in a pained sneer.

She drops the heart to her side and cocks her head. "You think I don't know? Oh, how sweet. You still think you can fool me."

He glowers, the fingers of his good hand clenching. "It will not interfere. I took a heart for you. Now you've a princess under your command, a spy for your side." He raises his head higher. "Now, can we get on with this Storybrooke business?"

She considers him, fingers trailing against the edge of his leather collar. "I still think you thirst for revenge," she murmurs. Then she shrugs. "Why not? I hate to travel alone. All we need is the compass."

"Which you will soon have, thanks to me," he replies.

She smiles. "Yes. And they think they've found the way to trap me. I think we should let them know I am not so easily beaten, don't you?"

He smiles tightly. "Of course, my Queen."

They travel in a puff of smoke, finding themselves in the dungeons of the Southern Palace. It is dank, cold. He finds pleasure in the fact the 'Stiltskin spent time in this ominous place trapped under royal guard. That he was denied freedom.

"What to do now, I wonder?" he asks.

She smiles and holds up the heart. "We wait," she says. Her hand flies up and he feels the shimmer of magic but nothing seems different.

"And what did that do?"

She sighs. "Do you wish to be seen right away by our enemies? No, we must wait to see where they keep the compass. Then, we strike."

He frowns. "So, a barrier of invisibility, then? Hardly your most intricate spell."

She looks skyward. "Must you always speak so insolently? I am far more powerful than you, far more than anyone in this realm. Believe me when I say that I am using the spells most applicable to the situation," she demands.

"Fine, then," he replies. He knows that she sent a probe out for magic after the beanstalk incident. He felt the familiar ripples. He is proud that he can keep his cards hidden, that he managed to have the forethought to keep Emma and the child's powers concealed. "Are we to wait all night? They are not benefited by magical travel."

"We'll wait as long as is needed, my dear pirate. This is a prize that is worth our patience. It will allow us passage to this new world where even you will be an exceptional magic being," she says snidely.

"Will you be garnering me with a taste of your wit, then? Or how else should we pass the time?" he asks, grinning.

She purses her lips. "I don't wish to hear more from you. You still need to pay for you impertinence. Silence will be my prize."

"And here I was thinking the heart was the payment," he mutters in irritation.

She levels a glare but says nothing more.

The girls wander in after a few hours of tense silence. They begin rummaging inside the cell and he closes his eyes against how stupid they are being. Not one is on the outside, in case something happens. His head shakes as the inevitable occurs and Aurora's compelled to throw a stone against the lever keeping the bars apart.

"What the hell? Aurora, what are you doing?" Emma cries, ever the tactful.

"Helping me," Cora purrs, stepping out into the open. He follows grudgingly, trailing behind like a pet. He leans against the rock wall, idly twisting the hook on his wrist.

Emma's eyes are wide with fury, narrowing on him in particular. He avoids her look, instead locking eyes on Snow. Hers are angry but resigned, as if this is completing all her preconceptions of him. He raises an eyebrow as she steps in front of her child, partially blocking her from view. "How?" Snow asks.

Cora uses the power to pull the compass from Emma's slack grasp. "No!" she cries and rushes forward, impeded by the bars. She hits them with an open palm, hair flying as she rages against it, pulling back and forth aggressively.

Cora shakes her head with a grin. "Now, now, don't waste your energy, dear. You have so little left with that babe inside you," she says, tucking the compass into the bag around her skirts. "Rumplestiltskin himself couldn't escape from this cell." She turns to Aurora, smiling in false gentleness. "Thank you, Aurora. We couldn't have done it without you."

The princess' jaw sets, her eyes melting in ferocity as she seems to realize that she is acting outside herself. Emma turns on her, gaping at the supposed disloyalty. "Why? Why would you do this?"

"How could you?" Snow pipes in, tears swimming in big, innocent eyes.

Aurora shakes her head. "No," she says, pitching forward to grab Emma's hand. "You have to believe me!"

"Now, now, don't blame her," Cora coos in agreement. "She was only doing what I told her to." She pulls the heart from the satchel, swinging it in front of the women's faces.

Emma's breath hitches, hand drifting to her bracelet, and he can see the walls in her crack at the sight. "You … you took her _heart_?" she asks.

"Actually," he cuts in, pushing forward. "I did. It was a gift."

Her eyes center on him, shock filling them. "_You_ did?" she asks incredulously. "How … how could you? This is what he did to Milah!"

He sneers, feeling a sharp stab of guilt as she uses her name. Her aim, no doubt. "The girl is still alive, isn't she?"

She shakes her head and he can palpably feel her disappointment. "I thought you were different. I thought you understood how cruel it was _to take someone's heart_! I thought you _cared_ about your Milah," she spits spitefully.

He looks away, anger stirring in his blood. "Yes, I care about her. I care about my _revenge_ and you all weren't getting me there, now were you?"

Cora smirks and squeezes the heart, causing Aurora to cry out in sharp pain. Emma's eyes widen and he can see every buried fear rise to the surface. He can't bring himself to look at the pretty, sweet face of the girl as she moans in agony. Cora's grip loosens and his eyes feel annoyingly wet. "Forgive us. We'd love to stay and chat, but Storybrooke awaits us."

Cora turns and Hook follows more languidly.

"Hook, wait!"

He turns, meeting Emma's tear-filled eyes. He busily tries to hide his own emotion. "Parting words, princess?" he asks.

Her hands limply curl against the bars, fearlessly capturing his gaze while hope and pleas float in them. "Please. My son, Hook. … _Killian_. Don't do this. I need my son and daughter, _Henry_ and _Brianna_, to be together, be _safe_," she beseeches, her hand dropping to her belly.

His resolve is loosening, but then he catches sight of Snow White edging closer to her daughter. Irrational anger drifts through him, reminding him that he needs to harness it if he is to prove to Cora that he will never again help Swan. He will do more if he is the right hand of the devil than in her path. "You should have considered all that before you betrayed me atop that beanstalk, Snow White, and the rest of you hadn't run away, leaving me there," he bites out.

The dark haired woman stiffens, a hand wrapping around Emma's shoulders protectively. "You would have done the same, Hook, given half a chance."

He levels his gaze with Emma once more so she can see the truth in it, stepping forward until his shadow covers her. His brow smooths and his tension leaves. "No. I wouldn't have."

She looks down and he can see her blinking back tears, the will to protect herself winning out. "Maybe not. But my kids have done nothing to you," she replies.

His jaw sets, brushing away her reasoning because he has nothing to answer to it. It is true enough, and partially the reason he is on her side. Instead, he deflects and holds out a necklace. "Do you know what this is?"

She immediately grabs for it and he yanks it back quickly, chuckling at her swiftness. A spry thing, for certain, and he can't keep the admiration from his gaze.

"The bean the giant kept," Snow breathes in answer.

He nods. He needs this grand speech with Cora listening in so attentively. "Yes, indeed. A pirate always keeps a souvenir of his conquest, but this … well, this is much more than a mere trinket. This is a symbol. Something that was once magical, full of hope, possibility," he says as he twists it in his good hand. He holds it up to Emma's narrowed eyes. "Now look at it. Dried up, dead, useless. Much like you," he says pointedly. Her eye twitches and her brow furrows, just slightly, curiosity in her stormy gaze. A different reaction than the one he sought. "The time for making deals is done, just as I'm done with you all," he sneers out.

He can practically feel Cora's smile behind him and he knows he is doing the right thing. He will have everything: his revenge, his morals, and his promise. He doesn't have to give up one to get the other.

Snow is leaning against the bars, her eyes shut and tears rolling down her face. Mulan is slumped in a corner, staring blankly at her sword. Aurora is coughing lightly, clutching a hand over where her heart should be. Emma is shaking her head, already trying to move on to the next idea, the next way out. Good girl. Cut loose what will only hinder you. "We'll send our regards from Storybrooke."

Emma reaches out. "Wait!"

Hook turns a final time, schooling his features a last time. "I've told you, there's no use in trying to appeal to my good side. The time for that has long since passed."

She shakes her head. "I know that. Just … don't let Henry get hurt. Keep him safe."

He gives a curt nod and follows Cora out the labyrinth that will lead to the surface. He will make sure of it. Someone in this tale deserves a happy ending.

* * *

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note**: Thank you for all the love! This chapter contains some dialogue and spoilers from 2x09 and then takes a flying leap in another direction. If you have any questions on character motivations, please message me (here, tumblr, wherever). I am more than willing to discuss my views on each character. :D

Guest Comments

**Guest**: Welcome! I wish you hadn't been on anon; I love to hear all different opinions! I do have reasoning for why Snow is the one that betrays Killian. Emma's just too pregnant to do it. Aurora would not have had the physical strength to initially defeat the giant. Mulan would not have had the compassion to let the giant go and thus get the compass from him. Snow has both but also carries a lot of insecurities that Killian sees and pounces on; besides, he makes her daughter uncomfortable. She doesn't want him around. Does that make sense? Please message if not!

**Abigail**: Thank you! I really am trying to paint Hook as an actual honorable person, lol.

**BossLady**: You may kill me with this chapter. Just maybe. Thank you for your review as always! I'm glad you're liking that they are facing their demons. At some point, they might be able to be rid of them!

Love to all my lurkers!

* * *

Graham stares at David's face thoughtfully. He looks peaceful, but doesn't stir from his place on the bed in the backroom of Gold's shop. He periodically checks for burns or scars appearing on his skin, but there is nothing. He remains unchanged.

Henry is passed out on half of his lap on the couch they are sharing, tears drying on his face and clutching the second pendant that Regina had made for him.

"He won't wake on his own," Regina calls from behind him.

He half turns, smoothing down Henry's hair in the same gesture. "He will when Snow comes back," he asserts. He can't help but feel angry whenever he sees her, to remember the things she did to him, to remember what she did to Emma and Henry. He knows to hide it, though; his rage won't be quenched by Regina knowing about it.

Her lips are pursed, anger potent in her gaze as she watches Henry on his lap. His arm circles him a little more fully in response. "And if Cora comes instead?" she asks.

He chuckles humorlessly. "Has Gold been working on your insecurities, Regina? We told them how to defeat her. We just have to wait."

He can tell she wants to injure him in some way. He is fine with that. As long as her anger is no longer directed at Henry. "We don't know for sure if the message was delivered, Huntsman. He's still asleep and can't tell us if he reached her or not." Her hands cross in front of her.

He shakes his head. "He would have reached her. They will be on their way."

"This is more optimism than I would have expected from you, Huntsman."

He smirks. "Then I suppose you don't really know me, do you?" he ventures.

She gives a look of disgust, hands burrowing into her sides. He's glad that maybe she has an inkling now that he man who she had blackmailed into being is not truly the same one in front of her. He had feared for his life every day, feared the pain and humiliation until he was numb with it, and _still_ found ways to defy her. He wonders if she is truly surprised by his defiance now that she has nothing to hold over him.

He looks down at the boy and shakes his head. "I have known these two long enough to know they will make it back to one another … and so do you. And Emma is still fighting for Henry and I _know_ she won't give up on him."

She frowns deeply at the mention of Emma. "I am his mother."

His eyes snap up, knowing that even though he could point out numerous instances in which he had been a possession more than anything, Henry still believes it as well. "So is Emma," he finally says coolly.

She shakes her head, recognizing that they were getting nowhere in this conversation. "We have to take precautions. We have to consider the possibility that my mother will be coming through that portal, not James' family."

Graham bites back the angry retort of them being his family as well; Emma is his family, and he will fight for hers. "_You_ can consider it. But even if she does, they will be coming, too."

She leaves in a huff, heels clicking against the floor angrily. "I'll return in an hour," she grinds out. He shakes his head, bringing his hands to his temple to roll away the headache that being around her brings about.

After almost an hour, Henry stirs on his lap, eyes blinking open. "Are they back?" he asks hoarsely, the hope in his expression crushing him.

Graham grimaces. "Not quite yet, Henry. But you know they will be."

Henry nods. "I went back to the netherworld, just for a second. Grandpa was there."

Graham lets his eyes close. "Dammit, Henry …," he sighs. "Don't you ever, _ever_ do that again. _Please_."

Henry looks a little sheepish and plays with the sleeve of his shirt. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go back, but … well, he's there and he said the message got through. He's waiting for grandma to come back and kiss him."

He hugs the boy to him, feeling a tension build and simultaneously release. "Just, never again, okay?"

Henry nods. "Okay."

He feels a sigh release from his chest. "We have to make sure you're healthy and intact when your mom and grandma gets home, right?"

Henry nods, something strange passing over his face before he smiles. "Eight months now."

Graham breathes a sigh and feels a clawing in his stomach, of anticipation and current misery. "Yes," he replies gently. "I'll finally see them after eight months."

His eyes dart around, deliberately not focusing on him. "See her," Henry corrects.

Graham smiles softly. "Yes, see her," he replies.

Henry hugs him impulsively. "If mom's your true love, that basically makes you like my stepdad, right?"

Graham chuckles, feeling his heart twist in wistfulness. "I think a couple legalities need to be performed before any of that. And you know how stubborn your mom is. I doubt we'll be getting there quick."

Henry snorts. "Wait 'til you see her again and _then_ you can tell me about how long before you guys get there," he retorts.

Graham grins. He knows he will be ready for whatever their relationship will mean to Emma. Anything. He will be there for her for whatever she is ready for and then willfully chip through her walls until she is comfortable enough to let him in all the way. He has a feeling he will need to work doubly hard after his ill-timed death.

Henry sits up and jumps onto David's bed. He peers onto his sleeping face a moment. "It's weird. Like, I know he's in there, but I also know he's _there_, too."

He shrugs. "Yeah, there is a lot of weirdness when it comes to magic."

Henry's gaze levels on him. "Like with your heart. It wasn't in you, but you were still alive."

He cringes at the seriousness on his face. "Henry …," he trails off, then stands. "Here," he says, grabbing the child's hand and placing it over his chest. He lets it stay there a moment and then gently removes it and looks right into the boy's soft brown eyes. "The false heart, during the curse? It felt a lot different. This one is _real_, Henry. Emma somehow restored it to me. And it's not going anywhere." _Unless I need to give it up to get her back,_ he silently adds.

Henry looks away. "I know what mom … what my _other_ mom, did to you," he finally says.

He takes a deep breath. "I know that must be hard for you to know. Just remember that I have it back, now. You don't need to worry about me."

Henry's face twitches and he can tell he's not completely convinced. "'Kay," he responds timidly.

Graham is searching for a way to placate him somehow, for that is all that he can do at this point, when Rumplestiltskin walks in, leaning heavily on his cane, Regina stoically standing behind him.

"Henry, we're going to have to ask that you stay here and watch over David," Regina says, her voice in that high tone that she uses around him.

Graham stands, recognizing that they are not asking him. "And where will we be going?" he asks warily.

Rumplestiltskin tents his fingers. "Well, to prepare for Emma and Mary Margaret's homecoming, of course," he says.

Graham lets his gaze fall between the two. "Why would you want to leave Henry alone? Someone should be with him."

Rumplestiltskin gives an easy smile. "Well, you'll be needing both of our magic if Cora comes through that portal. And I'm sure those two particular women would prefer to see a friendly face than our two, wouldn't they?"

Graham looks back to Henry. "Then, Henry should come, too."

"Not if Cora might be there," Regina cuts in. "I wouldn't put him in her path of danger."

Graham is torn. "Then, they'll have to deal with you two. David and I swore we'd never leave Henry alone, not after the stable incident," he proclaims, locking eyes with Regina.

She looks away guiltily, hands unconsciously going to her throat. Henry's bruises are barely yellow blemishes on his skin now. "Belle will be here," 'Stiltskin says with a smile, gesturing toward the storefront.

Graham and Henry exchange a glance of confusion. He walks cautiously to the door. Belle is by the counter, balancing a tray of tea things, her dark hair half covering her face. "Belle?" he asks.

She looks up with a sympathetic yet somehow bright smile and lets the tray rest. "I heard you need some help?" she says.

He chuckles. Maybe things will be fine. They'll be taking precautions on every front. And he will see Emma when she first arrives. "Henry. You'll protect him?"

She smiles and walks up to him, surrounding him in an embrace that he leans into. She's saving him this time and he will let her. He can hear The Dark One shift angrily behind him. "I will guard him with my life, Graham. He is an innocent who must be protected."

His face warms slightly, realizing that she is using his own words back at him, back from when they were both very different prisoners in a Dark Palace. He feels honored that she would remember his words. "Thank you, Belle."

She holds up a book of fairytales, one he knows well, clutched against her chest. "I figured since I am a librarian now, it's only fair that I read to him."

He laughs, feeling relaxed relief for the first time since they learned of the troubles in their land. "Seems like a plan. I think Henry will be amenable to it." The boy loved to spout out different anecdotes from their book of histories.

"We'll need to be going, Huntsman," the imp called from the other room.

He closes his eyes and grabs Belle by the elbow. "Hold on, let me tell him, first," he says, gently guiding the woman into the room.

Henry smiles at the sight of them. "Belle! I was wondering when I'd see you again!" he exclaims, bouncing from the bed to the ground and rushing up to them. He stops short and beams up at them. "Is that The Book?" he asks excitedly.

Graham ruffles his hair. "Belle's going to be with you while we get your mom and grandma, Henry, okay?" he says. He wants to be sure the kid is okay with it before he rushes off.

Henry nods enthusiastically. "Sure! Bring them home!" he chirps, hugging him around the waist before pulling Belle's arm to the chair eagerly.

Graham lets himself watch the scene for a minute, of Henry flipping through the pages to show Belle her own story and asking her to read. 'Stiltskin moves the tea things to them and Belle is carefully pouring some for her and Henry, encouraging him to drink. He nods to the other two adults. "Let's go."

"Right away, Huntsman," 'Stiltskin replies, gesturing toward the door.

They get into the car. It is tense with silence and he awkwardly stretches his hand and balls a fist reflexively as it builds. He notices they are heading to the edge of town. "Where are we going exactly?" he asks after a time.

Gold turns fluidly, guiding the car into a parking lot. "The hospital. There is an edge to another world there," he replies smoothly.

"Has there always been a portal to another world just lying around in the hospital?" he asks sarcastically.

"Portals are tricky, but they are predictable in a way. I know _exactly_ where this one is going to pop up," he replies. Graham feels a little of his unease wane, for his words are sure and lacking insincerity.

However, once they step onto the grounds he feels his suspicion rising. The staff seem to be mostly missing, especially as they descend down the staircase. He follows the two to the basement, his steps slowing as he wonders if he should trust these two particular beings at this point in time. The lights overhead vibrate with a faint buzzing, casting filtered green-white light through the hallways in small sections. He passes padded rooms and locked doors, wondering where this will culminate.

"Almost there, dearie," Rumplestiltskin calls from ahead. His voice echoes hollowly on the walls as does the steady tattoo of his cane and Regina's purposeful heel clicks. He sounds like the Dark One, now, an edge of madness and evil in his tone. He almost falters, but he reminds himself of the women waiting on him and steps forward.

Finally, they reach a door. Gold pulls out a key from seemingly nowhere and unlocks it swiftly.

"Where have you been, I've been waiting for hours!" a voice calls from behind a curtain. Graham stiffens, recognizing the accent even behind the malice.

The door slams behind him. "What are you playing at here, Gold?" he asks, narrowing his eyes as Victor comes into view.

He looks half-crazed, his hair in disarray, his eyes wild, and his mouth parted in a strange sort of grin. "You've brought him," he whispers. Graham looks back, realizing that his exit is blocked and that he has been tricked.

Gold leans on his cane, eyes shining. "Sorry, dearie. I need you out of the way while I call in a favor of Henry's mother."

He looks between the three, knowing that there is no way out of it and feeling impotent, frustrated, and furious, all at once. "I'm sorry I made it so easy for you," he says tensely, his hands clenching into fists.

Rumplestiltskin shrugs. "If you had resisted, you wouldn't have made it very far. Not with our magic behind us."

Graham sneers. "Who said I'm done resisting?" he says and quickly pivots to punch Victor. A hard crack resounds in the room and blood spurts from his nose as he howls in pain. He is able to watch it in satisfaction even as the rest of his body is immobilized by Regina's power.

She is grinning at him, that grin that says she thinks she's won. "Always have to be a problem, don't we Huntsman?"

He lets out a harsh chuckle. "If it makes it harder on you, sure." He glowers at her. "You won't win. Emma and Snow are returning and they will defeat you."

Her eyebrows raise and she smirks. "Defeat me? How will they do that if they die before they reach this world?"

He struggles against the invisible bonds, hopelessly trying to reach her. "You won't do it," he hisses.

Regina laughs. "But then I'll have everything I want! Frankenstein went insane and dissected _you_. Prince Charming is trapped in a sleeping curse he will never wake from. And then, magic is so different here … the portal collapsed and killed Snow and Emma. Oh, but at least Cora isn't here. I saved the town even if I couldn't save you all. And then Henry will have only _me_. And we will be together."

He feels his Adam's apple bob up and down as he fights with his fear and his absolute faith that it won't happen. Her dark eyes are glinting, sure. Filled with a contented evilness he isn't sure he's ever seen in Regina's eyes, one that chills him.

He glances over at Gold to see that something has changed behind his eyes. He looks like he has leveled out, returning to Gold rather than the Dark One. He steps forward and yanks a strand of hair from his head painfully. "I'll be needing this, dearie."

And he understands.

Henry said he would need both his _and_ Emma's hair for the potion. Gold will ensure that they will enter this world safely. He is only using Regina here as a pawn, as he always has. Gold nods to Victor, and even through his madness and the bright crimson blood spouting from his nose there is an understanding. He _understands_. He will not die here, but of that he cannot care. Emma will be safe; this is _all_ that matters.

He lets himself slacken in relief, but lets Regina think it is defeat.

She smiles at him, letting her hand fall down his neck and across his chest. It brings back memories he would rather have shoved to the wayside and he wishes he can recoil from her touch. "I did miss having you as my pet. But now, your death will serve a greater purpose than keeping the curse hidden," she murmurs.

He thinks she means it to be some sort of appeasement for him and his face screws up in disbelief. "I have found true love despite all you did to keep it from me. I've won."

Her face tightens and she steps back. "We'll see if you still feel that way once Dr. Frankenstein has finished with you." She leaves in a puff of smoke, as dramatic as ever.

Rumplestiltskin smirks as he leaves, his cane coming forward again. Graham's breath hitches. "Keep her safe," he calls.

He turns, his eyes bright. "I told you: I'm a fan of true love and what it produces. What a _waste_ it would be to have her leave this world so soon. Before her life even began."

Graham thinks that is an odd statement; while _their_ story had ended prematurely, Emma has definitely been living a purposeful life.

'Stiltskin has moved on, though, turning with a darker glare to Victor. "Remember to keep him alive. Study all you want, but have him back to the Charmings promptly tomorrow morning."

Victor nods and injects him with something that instantly makes his eyes heavy. "No worries, Sheriff. Just a little research."

* * *

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

**Author's Note**: Okay, here's the thing, guys: I think this may be the last week of biweekly posts for awhile. My boss is leaving us and things are going to be a mess at work, so extra hours will be had by all in addition to another PT job. Weekly updates are definitely going to be held to! And I will try to get back to biweekly if it looks feasible!

This chapter contains some dialogue and spoilers from 2x09 and 2x13.

Guest Comments

**Guest (1):** Thank you so much! I think Regina used James pretty often for David. Just because she knew he was a shepherd doesn't mean she knew his name, IMO. :D

**Guest (2)(x4):** I think you're all the same person! I am so thankful that you're still reading. Manhattan isn't too far away, so I hope you'll reserve judgment until you read it. Also, most of the Charming/Henry bonding is happening off-screen since Graham and David are taking turns with Henry, it's just that I wanted to focus on what _didn't_ happen. Same with the other David dynamics. Oh, and Victor's not done with. Poor Snow and David, for sure, but Emma's not going to forget them, although the new dynamic will pull her focus for a bit (understandably). Thank you for the review, and I hope you'll still stick around!

**Guest (3):** Hook's got a little more honor this time around, at least! Just a little, lol.

**BossLady**: I have a lot of daddy!Graham feels with Henry, and that's not likely to end soon, lol! Victor is obsessive, but he's not a psychopath … he fears Rumple just the right amount. He made some promises he will definitely be keeping. I love the theories! Let's see how they play out!

**Angel**: Victor's under the strict orders of the Dark One. Graham won't be too bad off.

**Abigail**: Thank you, sweetie! You won't have to wait long for the women's return!

* * *

Emma sluggishly follows her mother over another hill. Something has changed in the weeks they have been stuck here, and not just regarding their relationship. Yes, she considers Mary Margaret to be mom, at least somewhat. But there is something changing to the bump, too. The baby's position has moved, shifted. Her center of gravity feels different and she can feel the tiredness piquing; she feels weaker than she ever has.

She ignores it and presses on.

Mulan is glancing at her every few paces and she knows that the warrior wishes she had been left behind with Aurora. Emma refuses, however, to be dead weight. She will help. She will protect their family. And they will get back to her son.

They reach the crest and she pants, feeling winded in the worst way. She _cannot_ be weak. She cannot be the reason they don't get home. Her eyes scan the mostly barren, sandy mush until they land on a swirling mass of water. There are Hook and Cora, delighting in their believed win.

She can feel the anger coursing through her as she stares at the pirate. After she had put her trust on him, let him put some magical powder voodoo on her, he defects back to Cora. She would have gotten him to Storybrooke. She wouldn't have helped him in his revenge, but she would have gotten him there.

She sees Mary Margaret raise her bow and aim, her eyes fiery with intent. The arrow sails through the air and cuts right to the compass, making it land somewhere in the sand.

"You're not going anywhere! That compass is taking us home!" she calls.

Cora looks up at them, eyes narrowing in challenge. She doesn't even look at Hook as she says, "Find it first. I'll take care of them."

Emma skids across the uneven surface, pulling the borrowed sword free from her belt. She is met halfway by Hook, who slides his sword teasingly against hers.

"Now, now. I've already made my deals and you are not part of them. I thought you'd heard – the compass is mine," he says.

She looks at him, startled. He is lying. That little piece that always rings out whenever someone lies … it is screaming right now. She doesn't let the confusion settle. "Good for me I've never been one to listen," she fires back hotly and pulls back the sword to clash against his.

She doesn't really know what she's doing, and she recognizes this. She's been able to get by on pure adrenaline but that part is failing her now. She can see the spots where she is leaving herself vulnerable, can see the missteps that she is making, can feel herself tiring, can even _see_ it. She knows he must see them, too. And yet he never aims for her. He keeps up with appearances, but his blows land on the strongest part of her sword, never even disarming her. She should be grateful. Instead, it angers her, somewhat. She is stronger than this. She doesn't need some pirate to take it easy on her.

In frustration, she changes tactics and cuts upwards, bringing the hilt down to strike between his neck and the shoulder of his good arm. He hisses in pain and knocks her backward. She releases a breath as her arm shoots in sharp pain, looking down briefly at the scrape made on her forearm. His eye twitches, but out of the corner of hers, she sees the satchel containing Aurora's heart spiraling through the air toward the portal.

"No!" she cries, attempting to awkwardly push herself to her feet. She doesn't have enough time; she knows she won't make it, not without falling through herself. A panicky feeling takes over her in a split second, the same one she felt when Aurora was gasping in pain when Cora clutched the organ.

What she does not expect is for Hook to toss his body backward and narrowly catch the strap on his hook. He pauses, regaining his footing and tossing it to Mulan. "I may be a pirate, but I bristle over the thought of a woman losing her heart," he says with full sincerity. And then he grins predatorily at the warrior. "Unless it's over me, of course."

She closes her eyes against the stupidity of his playboy veneer especially after doing something that she knows is important to him. They snap back open to narrow on him. "I thought you only cared about your revenge?"

He grins wolfishly. "Perhaps you don't know me that well after all, Swan."

No, that's not right, she thinks as she absently chews on her lip. She thinks she knows him quite well, in fact, after this stunt. He readies his stance. "Didn't know you had such a soft spot," she says sarcastically as she mimics his posture.

He winks. "I don't. I just like a fair fight." He swings again, connecting with her sword and the clash rings inside her with the sudden force. He frowns and his next feint is lighter.

They dance around each other and she knows it is only this – a dance. They are going through the motions. They are playing an act for Cora, one she will willingly play if it means she will get home. She runs at him suddenly, swinging the blade.

"Good form, for a pregnant woman," he chuckles, and she growls angrily at his patronizing. He moves the hook to block as she attempts to knee him. "But alas, not good enough."

He trips her and she lands awkwardly again, her weapon clutched in too-tight fingers. He pushes back with his own and his hook slides down the steel toward her with a bawdy wink. She squirms and he chuckles deeply.

"Fair fight, huh?" she grunts, putting more weight in her sword as something digs awkwardly into her side. The baby is oddly still as she struggles. She worries, her focus splitting to bolt concern over her Brianna, before remembering that she needs to get out of this first. Once they are safe, she can make sure she is all right.

He smirks. "Truly one for the books, love. A solid effort for one in your condition." He glances down at her belly, his eyes softening considerably before blinking into hardness. "You may want to give up, now. With my life on the line, you've left me no choice," he says. There is apology in his stare, a question of honor.

With nimble fingers, she finds the metal that was making her uncomfortable and puts it up to his face in triumph. "Why would I, when I'm the one that's winning?"

She manages to kick him off of her, almost missing the brief smile that plays on his lips. She twists away, and they connect blades once again. Sweat is beading at her temple, but she pushes through it, feeling elated as he continues to give her ground. He leans to the side, and she sees the opening. She smiles.

"Thanks," she grins and slams a fist into his jaw. He stumbles sideways and collapses in a dramatic fashion; she knows the blow didn't have enough strength behind it to knock him out.

She smirks down at him, shaking her head in half-bewildered amusement. She is oddly thankful for the fight; she feels on top of her game again, renewed, energized. She turns and sees that Mary Margaret is grappling with Cora, the magic being blocked expertly by Mulan's blade. She doesn't seem to be struggling, and she finds optimism seep into her, as unnatural as it is. Mulan herself is gone, and she expects she is on her way to Aurora.

Aurora will get her heart back. She will live to fight another day. It will beat within her chest instead of turning into dust. The thought warms her.

She is catching her breath when she sees Mary Margaret get disarmed. The alarm is back, coupled with new fear, and she runs forward to help. Cora throws her to the ground with a burst of magic and she groans as she lands in the sand again.

Mary Margaret's eyes are glossy with tears as she shakes her head. "_Why_ do you want to go to Storybrooke?" she asks.

Cora smiles. "Because my daughter needs me. And now, I'm going to give her the one thing she's always wanted – your heart. Goodbye, Snow."

Emma screams and doesn't even know if she is speaking in words, the panic culminating feverishly. She flies in between her mother and Cora, breathing hard as the former drops to the ground by the force of it. Fury contorts her face as she stands before the monster who threatens her family. "You will have to go through me, first!" she shouts, raising her blade threateningly.

Cora shakes her head pityingly. "Oh, you stupid girl. I would have let you keep the child," she says, shrugging her shoulders and the sword disappears from her hands in a haze of smoke. Emma gapes at her now empty hands, trembling in terror as her only weapon vanishes. "Don't you understand? Love is weakness."

Cora's hand glows and Emma feels the dread center and consume her in its chill. _She_ put herself in this position. She put Graham's child, the tiny thing that she loves so damn much, in danger; now they will die, just like he did. She braces for the impact, waiting for the inevitable. She closes her eyes and thinks of Graham, of her parents, of Henry and lets her last thought be of them rather than Cora in front of her.

Her eyes abruptly open when Cora's hand slams onto her chest. It is painful, but more like a slap than anything, her hand against skin instead of inside her. Cora seems confused and pulls back, hand reddening again and coming forward, but this time she doesn't even touch her body, as if a barrier is formed between them. Emma lets out a breathy laugh of relief. "No. No, you don't have power!" Cora shrieks.

Emma lets a wide grin stretch across her face as a tingling pulls through her. _Our power_, she thinks as Brianna moves suddenly, making her more aware of her presence. For it must be the both of them, she realizes, and the love she has for her daughter envelopes her like a cloak.

"Yes, _we_ do. Me and my daughter are products of true love. And love? Is strength!" she cries and lets the tingles fly from her, slamming Cora away in a bright beam of gold energy.

"Emma!" Mary Margaret cries. She runs to her, her green eyes bright with tears. She is mad and grinning and she hugs her close. Emma lets it happen, let's Mary's arms surround her tightly. She pulls back and one of her hands come to rest above her heart, where Cora's hand couldn't push through, and the other on top of Brianna. "Don't you try that again!"

She laughs, feeling tears of shock, release, and happiness stream down her face. "What the hell even was that?"

Mary Margaret shakes her head. "That sounds like an excellent topic for discussion … once we get home," she replies, holding out a hand.

Emma takes it eagerly, the compass clutched in between. "I guess a running leap is the name of the game?"

"Guess so," she answers, giving the hand a squeeze of reassurance.

Together, they jump into the swirling depths.

Emma gasps as she emerges at the surface, coughing up water and pushing heavy wet locks of hair out of her face. A pail, a rope, and stone are their only way up. "Seriously? The well was real?" she sighs, the echo bouncing upwards.

Mary Margaret smiles. "I guess this time you'll actually be able to show me how you get all the way up."

Emma studies the length. She had been bluffing that first day in the pit. She knew as soon as the rope went taut that she wouldn't be able to make it the rest of the way. She was just being stubborn. However, as she examines her options, she realizes she can make this one work for her. "Grab the rope and walk up the stone," she murmurs, tugging on it a couple times to be sure it would handle the weight.

"Sounds simple enough," her mother mutters. She begins and Emma follows, quickly working their way. The fatigue she felt before is now gone; she'll be seeing her son soon.

When they reach the top, Emma's brow immediately furrows in confusion. Above them, in the sky, is a sizzling green shield of magic, waiting to drop. Instead, it reverses back into the sky like backwards lightning, crackling with a boom before dissolving to nothing. Her eyes snap back down. Gold is there, leaning on his cane with a smile. And Regina is laying a couple paces away, passed out cold. She pauses, resting on the edge of the well. "And what happened here?"

He shrugs. "She wasn't up to a family reunion. I thought it best to keep her subdued."

"Where's my husband?" Mary Margaret asks, chin held high.

He turns his gaze to her instead. "With your son, my dear, back at my shop."

"Well, let's go then," she says, walking in that direction, Mary Margaret ahead.

Before she can move, she sees the wolf, Graham's wolf. She huffs, thinking how strange it is to see him again. It trots up to her and presses its nose eagerly against her belly, low whines made in the back of its throat. She smiles and bends to pet it and it leaps away suddenly, following Mary Margaret back towards the town, towards Henry. She follows readily.

Gold catches her arm mid-pace.

"One thing first, dearie," he says. He is eerier than ever now that he can be himself instead of encapsulated in Gold's identity. "I need to call in on our deal."

She stiffens. "Do I get a chance to catch my breath?"

His eyes flicker to her belly. "I'd prefer you complete this particular task before the second is born," he replies.

She rolls her eyes. "What do you want?" She wants to get this over with. She wants to have Henry in her arms again, to prepare for Brianna getting here in a few short weeks, to learn how to be a family with her children.

"You do honor your agreements, don't you? I need to find someone, so we're leaving today. Pack your bag."

"_Today_? I just got back two seconds ago!" she shouts, anger coiling within her. Mary Margaret has already run ahead so she doesn't even have her support on this. "I haven't even seen my son yet!"

He shrugs. "Bring the boy. Just have him packed up by seven this evening. We're to be at the airport by nine."

She closes her eyes, her mind whirling and frustration boiling beneath the surface. "What the hell are we going to do at the airport?" she asks, leveling him with a fuming stare.

He sneers, anger brewing at the forefront. "We're finding someone."

"Who?" she asks, eyes narrowed. "Who could possibly be so important that I have to drop everything to make sure you find them?"

"My son. You and Henry are the only ones that can leave without complications, and I'll need your clever ability at finding people to help me once I get to the vicinity."

She raises a brow. "Your son," she says flatly. "Of course Rumplestiltskin has a son wandering around this world." She shakes her head, lip curling in distaste. "Wait, if we're the only ones that can leave without repercussions, how are you getting out?"

He smiles. "That reminds me," he says and reaches forward.

"Ow! Shit, that hurt!" she cries, watching as he pulls back a strand of hair.

"Consider it payment for saving you three from Regina. She had some horrible plans brewing for you," he says with a smile.

She rubs her head, the dull pain slowly fading. "Well, what is that even going to do?"

"It will allow me to make a potion so I will be able to retain my memories even if I cross the town line and leave this place. So thanks for that, dearie."

That reminds her. "Wait. The scroll in your cell. It was only my name, over and over," she says.

He nods and taps his head. "Making sure it would stick," he says, baring his teeth.

She shakes her head. "But it makes no sense. You had the way out of there that whole time and yet you remained a prisoner."

"I may have left a couple times to make a few visits. But alas, I was meant to be there when the curse broke. And that scroll was meant for you to find."

She looks down, her face frowning in thought. "You made this curse, made me the savior. All that I've been doing is what you've wanted me to do."

He laughs and she looks up, startled. "Oh, dearie, I did not _make_ you. I simply took advantage of an opportunity. You are the product of true love, the most powerful magic. Everything you've done, you've done _yourself_."

She covers her stomach, as if protecting Brianna from his gaze. "Cora tried to take my heart. She couldn't even get through my chest."

A smile slowly crosses his face. "Like I said, powerful magic. Amplified by the second. Two products, all in one."

She feels her breath hitch and her hand tangles in the worn shoelace on her arm. "So … so we were? Me and … and Graham? We were?"

He studies her deftly. "I think you already know the answer to that, dearie."

She refuses, absolutely refuses, to cry in front of Gold. But her vision is suspiciously cloudy and her nose and throat burn with the want of it. To actually know _for sure_ of what they had …. "That's … that's good to know."

"She'll be a powerful thing on her own. Imagine how different she will be if she is raised in love rather than fear?" he asks.

She glares at him, not amused by his slight on her past. "I love her enough for two parents. Mary Margaret, Henry, and David will do the same."

"I have no doubt," he says, his eyes crinkling in odd amusement. He cocks his head to the side, finger outstretched as he seems overtaken by a thought. His eyes squint further and he grins. "You've chosen a name."

She looks up in surprise. "How would you even know that?"

His hands raise, palms up. "Names are what I deal in."

Her mouth falls into a straight line. "Maybe I did."

"And?" he asks, his fingers tenting. "Let's hear it. I want to know what this new little magical being will be called."

She thinks against it, distrust brewing in her gut as she shakes her head.

He smiles. "Well, I'll find out eventually. Not much longer left."

She looks away. "I'm going to see Henry. I'm going to shower these past two weeks of forest trekking off my skin. I'm going to eat something other than chimera or squirrel or God knows what. I am going to take a nap with my son and daughter. And then we'll go on your adventure."

"Fine," he says. "I'll walk you there."

The closer they get, the faster her steps become. She is at a full-out run by the time she sees the storefront, the bell chiming behind her as she tears through the door and towards the back room.

She barely registers David and Mary Margaret kissing because she sees her son, Henry. He is pushing away a china cup, resting between the wolf and a dark-haired woman as they stare serenely at the scene in front of them.

Henry. The kid that brought her here and believed in her and _loved_ her despite her faults. And God, did she love him back, so much. For everything he's done for her, for everything she can do for him, for everything they are to each other. Her child, her son, this kid who is so much braver than she has ever been.

"Mom!" he cries when he sees her finally, bolting for her. They meet halfway, gripping each other fiercely. Tears fall freely down both their faces.

"Henry, I love you, I missed you so much," she sobs, pulling him as close as she can.

"I missed you all so much! Grandpa and me have been so lonely without you three!" he cries back, one hand on her belly, greeting his sister.

She grins through her tears, pulling him closer. This is how it's supposed to be.

If only she can get those images Aurora stirred up out of her head.

* * *

TBC


End file.
